


Snape’s Vocation

by GillianInOz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Severitus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-16 00:08:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 106,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16943289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GillianInOz/pseuds/GillianInOz
Summary: Sequel to Mine.Five year old Harry and his father Severus Snape settle down into their new lives at Hogwarts.





	1. Chapter One

"Daddy! Owl post is here!" Harry called excitedly.

Snape laid his paper down while Harry ran to the kitchen for the bag of owl treats. Pushing open the window he stood aside as half a dozen birds flew in and deposited their letters on the breakfast table. Harry stood by the window and one by one they landed on the wide stone window seat so he could hand them their treats.

The five year old giggled as a tawny barn owl nibbled his fingers gently then rotated its head, hooting accompaniment.

"Clever bird!" Harry praised, handing him another treat. The mail owls didn't linger, after another chorus of hoots they flapped through the mullioned window, one by one. Snape reached over to pull the heavy old frame closed when another owl, considerably larger than the others landed on the sill, a large brown paper wrapped bundle tied to its leg.

Snape unfastened the soft leather tie, frowning curiously. His potions orders were finding him regularly, hence Harry's experience with owl post, but this was only the second parcel he had received for as long as he could remember and curiously he read the direction printed on it as Harry fed the large brown owl a handful of treats.

"You're the biggest owl I've ever seen," Harry said in admiration, boldly stroking down soft wing feathers. The owl hooted smugly then took to wing, soaring away from the tower and across the snowy landscape.

"Wash your hands after you put the treats away," Snape reminded automatically.

"I know," Harry said agreeably, slipping down off the window seat and trotting away.

_Master Harry Potter,_ the letter read. _Old Potion Master's Tower. Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry._ And on the back; _Mrs Molly Weasley, The Burrow._

"Is that a present for you, daddy?" Harry asked curiously as he climbed back up to the breakfast table and picked up his cold slice of toast.

For a moment Snape was tempted to lie and say it was for him, but he really couldn't find any good reason to do so other than some instinct telling him he didn't want Arthur Weasley's wife beginning a relationship with Harry. Not that there was anything wrong with the Weasleys, they were both former members of the Order and decent enough wizards.

But Molly Weasley had always been so... cheerful. Bustling and cosy and friendly and all the things that invariably rubbed Snape up the wrong way. And she had children too, he remembered. Dozens of them, all red headed and loud, with obnoxious manners and piercing voices.

He had delayed too long, Harry had craned his head curiously and was reading the neat lettering on the paper.

"Harry Potter," he read wonderingly. "That's me! That present is for me!"

"I'm just checking to make sure it's from who it says it is," Snape said hastily. A quick direction spell confirmed its sender and with no further excuse he reluctantly handed it over.

Harry studied the brown wrapped bundle in amazement. "Who is it from?"

"Molly Weasley," Snape told him, pulling a half full bowl of soggy cereal out of harms way.

Harry looked up at him curiously. "Is she a friend of ours?"

"She was a friend of your mother's," Snape revealed unenthusiastically. "Open it."

With trembling fingers Harry ripped at the paper and Snape was reminded uncomfortably of Christmas Eve, when Harry had hopefully opened the gift from his muggle aunt, only to be disappointed. The memory actually warmed him somewhat to the absent Molly Weasley. Harry hadn't had enough presents in his young life and this little surprise was welcome if only for the pleased flush that mantled the little boy's cheeks.

"It's a jumper," Harry said in surprise, pulling the ruby red knitted garment from the wrapping. An envelope fell onto the table as he spread the jumper out but Harry barely noticed. "Look, daddy!" he exclaimed excitedly. "A dragon! A gold dragon on the front!"

In Gryffindor colours, Snape noted sourly, plucking the envelope up and scanning the front of it.

"Ah, mystery solved," he told Harry. "Mrs Weasley is Charlie's mother. Your freckled friend from the infirmary."

"Charlie who liked dragons!" Harry realised, stroking reverent fingers over the golden embroidered dragon. "What does it say?"

"Dear Harry," Snape read. "My son Charlie told me you like dragons so I made you this jumper. I hope it fits, it's the same size as my son's, Ronnie, and he's the same age as you. I've included another surprise in the envelope, hope you like it. Molly Weasley."

"Another surprise?" Harry held out his hand for the parchment envelope but his father had already opened it and was slipping the small piece of card out. Only his skilled fingers stopped him from dropping it in shock as the picture smiled merrily up at him. Harry climbed off his chair impatiently and hurried to his father's side, peering over his arm.

"What is it?" he demanded. "Oh, it's a picture. Is it Mrs Weasley? She's very pretty."

"No," Snape said numbly. "It's Lily. It's your mother."

Harry's eyes widened behind his glasses and he gasped. "My mother?"

Snape handed it over, watching as the photograph smiled and shook its head for the camera. Lily was wearing her school uniform and she was just as he remembered. Her dark red hair was held back by curved wooden combs, her startling green eyes were creased and smiling. The subject of the picture seemed to be posing reluctantly but was being a sport about it, smiling self consciously and only breaking out into a genuine grin after a moment.

"My mum." Harry held the picture carefully and gazed down at it. "Hello, mum."

Snape swallowed hard. "Harry," he said huskily. "Photographs aren't like portraits. They can't speak."

Harry frowned up at him in disappointment. "They can't?"

"No." Snape laid a consoling hand on his shoulder. "It's just an image, son. A memory from a long time ago captured in film and put on a piece of paper."

"Oh." Still gazing at the picture Harry crossed the tower room and sat down on his small armchair. With one long little finger he traced the photograph's glossy surface while his father looked on helplessly.

Why had it never occurred to him to get Harry a photograph of his mother? The boy had obviously never seen one before. It was hard to believe though that the bluff Molly Weasley he remembered had been thoughtful enough to send a photograph of Lily alone, rather than one with James. Snape silently thanked her for it.

He wasn't sure he was ready for questions about James.

This was going to be hard enough.

Taking a last sip of cold tea for fortification, Snape crossed the room and sat opposite Harry in his own armchair, leaning forward and linking his hands between his knees.

"All right, Harry?"

"She's pretty, isn't she?"

"Yes," Snape agreed. She had been pretty, even back in school.

"Was she nice?"

Snape considered for a moment. "She was nice to me," he said cautiously. Not that they had had much contact, but she had never gone out of her way to cause him trouble, as some had.

"Did you love her?"

Ouch.

"Your mother was married to James Potter, Harry," he began carefully. "Remember?"

"Oh, yeah." Harry turned the picture over and then back again. "Do you have a photo of him, daddy?"

"I, er, I can get you one. If you want."

"Daddy?" Harry was frowning and his father braced himself for the inevitable questions.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Can I put this by my bed?"

"Uh." Snape opened and closed his mouth. "If you like," he finally managed.

"In a frame?"

"Of course."

Harry smiled in satisfaction. "Good. Daddy?"

Here it comes. "Yes?"

"Can we play in the snow today?"

"The snow?" Snape repeated stupidly.

"Madam Pomfy said I needed exercise," Harry reminded him slyly. "And I have my gloves and scarf now."

"Madam Pomfrey," Snape corrected automatically. "I, er, suppose so." He watched dumbfounded as Harry jumped up and raced to his room, pausing in his doorway only long enough to turn and order. "Get dressed, daddy!"

"Yes," Snape agreed, feeling as if he had just received a reprieve. As he dressed warmly he reminded himself it was a temporary one only, Harry was not done with this subject yet. Snape was beginning to learn how his son's mind worked. The boy tended to chew things over slowly, coming out with his questions when he had formed them to his own satisfaction and usually without warning.

Still, Snape couldn't help feeling lighter as they made their way out into the fresh late February air. Harry was still only five years old. He would accept simple answers to his complicated questions for now, and now was all Snape was worried about. Tomorrow would come soon enough, he would worry about it then.

888

Harry loved the snow and as usual on their walks he ran circles around his father as they crossed the grounds down towards the lake. Snape realised it was a weekend when he saw the crowds of warmly dressed students racing through the snow, pelting each other with snowballs, some magically zooming around corners and finding their targets even as they cowered and chuckled.

Gazing raptly at the fun and games Harry giggled as a snowball zoomed right up to him and stopped at his face before falling down into the snow at his feet.

"Sorry, sir!" A second former ran panting up and skidded to a stop in front of them. "It almost got away from me."

"Did you throw it?" Harry asked in delight. "I thought it was gonna hit me right in the face!"

"Going to," Snape corrected automatically. Two more boys ran up.

"Hello, young Harry," a cheerful redhead said with a grin.

"Charlie!" Harry greeted in delight, rushing to the boy's side. Charlie patted him on the head with a mittened hand. "Your skin growed back!"

"Yep, but so did my freckles," Charlie said, making a mournful face.

Harry chuckled. "I like them," he confided. "Guess what, Charlie? Your mummy sent me a jumper!"

The second former glanced at Snape uneasily and the future potions master tried to school his face into a pleasant expression. It was not easy to break the habits of a lifetime.

"Sorry, sir," Weasley muttered, face reddening. "My mum, you know, when I told her about young Harry... She's a bit soft, sir."

"It was a pleasant thought," Snape managed and the boy relaxed.

"I say, sir. Can Harry come and play with us?"

Harry clasped his hands together and widened his eyes pleadingly. "Oh! Can I?"

Snape studied the roughhousing in the snow with suspicion.

"We'll be careful, won't we, chaps?" Charlie said and the other two boys nodded. A dark boy tweaked the tassel on Harry's warm little hat.

"He's about the same age as my wee brother," he said carelessly. "We'll look after him, sir."

"Can I, daddy?" Harry pleaded.

"May I," Snape sighed. "You may. But I'll be right here watching!" he added hastily as Harry grabbed Charlie's hand.

"Don't worry, sir!" Charlie called back over his shoulder as they raced away. "He'll be fine."

Snape warmed himself a spot on a stone and sat down, drawing his cloak around him. Harry did seem to be enjoying himself, gathering bundles of snow and being lectured by Weasley on how to throw them. His first effort splatted to the ground only a few feet in front of him but he gamely bent and gathered another handful.

Under the boy's tutelage he soon became an expert and Snape watched with something almost like pride as the hurled snowballs began to take on a life of their own, zooming straight ahead and then curving at the last minute to slap an unsuspecting victim in the side of the head.

Harry laughed triumphantly and punched the air as he succeeded in the small magic. A moment later he was panting up to his father, little legs pumping.

"Did you see that, daddy?" he crowed. "I magicked it and it went where I wanted! Charlie learned me!"

"He taught you," Snape corrected, pulling Harry's scarf more tightly about his neck. "You must pay attention to the correct way to speak, Harry, even when you are excited." Pulling out his wand he quickly dried the damp clothes and warmed Harry up.

"Ooh, that feels nice," Harry said happily. "Thank you."

He rushed back to the play and Snape muttered another warming spell for himself, drawing in a lungful of the chill air. Madam Pomfrey had insisted on these outings and Snape had gamely complied, seeing every day how Harry's colour and demeanour improved with the exercise. The downside was the muscles he had not previously suspected he had, each and every one of them aching after a trek trying to keep up with his son. It was a nice change to sit today and watch instead of being worn out.

The quicker young Longbottom got here the better, Snape thought to himself as Harry ran from a snowball and nimbly dodged it. It was a lonely life for a small child and he didn't fool himself into thinking these older children would want to spend more than the occasional playtime with a five year old. Not that it would be appropriate anyway. Harry needed a friend his own age and he idly wondered if Dumbledore was any closer to finding a tutor for the boys.

888

Harry's legs were dragging by the time they reached the castle and Snape stooped and lifted him to his shoulder, feeling the little body collapse into slumber almost instantly. Despite his voracious appetite the boy was still light as a feather and Snape carried him easily up the stairs, ignoring the stares and comments from the students as they wandered towards the hall for lunch.

"Who's that?"

"Next years potion master, the one taking over from old Dolly."

Snape's lips thinned at the disrespect. He might dislike Dolly Bright himself but there was no reason for these snotty little brats to make fun of the old bat.

"Who's the sprog?"

"Charlie Weasley says it's Harry Potter, but I ask you. What would Harry Potter be doing here?"

"With that greasy git?"

"Harry Potter."

"Harry Potter!"

It was a relief to reach the sanctuary of their tower and Snape carried Harry to his bed and laid him down gently, tugging off his gloves and boots before laying a cover over him. He sat by his son on the edge of his bed as he did every night before sleep, smoothing the covers and studying the little boy carefully for the changes wrought by each day.

And each night he found something, thin face a little plumper, soft hair a little longer, one less line of worry between small brows. Today, in the bright winter sunlight pouring in the barred windows Snape looked deeper, seeing Lily Evans as she had appeared in the old photograph, green eyes twinkling. Would Harry look like her when he was older? Harry appeared to have Potter's hair, but it was a little known fact that Snape unfortunately shared the same inherited trait for unruly locks with his cousin, which was why he tried so hard to plaster it down.

There was no doubt though that Harry had inherited Lily's green slanted eyes. Startlingly so. No doubt he would hear it from Lily's friends and acquaintances his life long.

Snape sighed and pushed himself wearily up from the bed. Lunch waited for them on covered trays and he sat and opened his morning mail while he absently tucked into his stew. A warming spell would ensure Harry's would be ready for him when he awoke.

Enjoying the peace and quiet in which to work, Snape made a list of his potions for the week, adding a list of ingredients he needed to purchase. Being so far from the apothecary's of Diagon Alley was a bit of a nuisance, but having experienced house elves at his beck and call made up for a lot, no sooner had he finished his list than Pickle was appearing by his side, supervising a half a dozen elves as they unobtrusively gathered plates and dishes together.

"The young master will be eating later?" Pickle asked anxiously.

"Yes. Will you see this order is delivered to Albion's Apothecary in Diagon Alley?"

Pickle bowed deeply. "An honour, sir. Would sir like Pickle to pick up the rest of Harry Potter's clothes from the tailor while he is there?"

Wishing his pockets were a bit deeper Snape nodded, handing over his purse to the house elf's keeping.

"Pickle found an old brush set for Harry Potter as sir requested," Pickle said happily. "And may Pickle say on behalf of the entire house elf staff how pleased and honoured we are to serve Harry Potter? And his esteemed father, sir."

Snape let his attention stay on the grizzled old elf as a thought occurred to him. "I wonder, Pickle, if you could perform another task, for Harry Potter?"

Pickle grinned in delight and bowed low. "Anything, sir!"

888

Harry stirred and yawned, fighting his arms out from the folds of his cloak, wondering why he was wearing his clothes to bed instead of his nightshirt. And why sunlight was pouring in the window. Outraged as he realised what had happened he leapt out of bed and stalked into the round tower room where his father was sitting in his armchair with a thick notepad on his lap.

"You put me to bed!" he accused.

"You were asleep," his father returned calmly, still scratching at the page.

Harry planted his fists on his hips and glared reproachfully. "I'm too old for naps!"

"Don't fall asleep in the daytime then," his father said reasonably, finally looking up from his writing. "And what have I told you about wandering about in bare feet? You have slippers, boy, I know because I've just paid the bill for them. Use them."

Harry felt his lower lip begin to protrude. "But I've been napping!" he said, gesturing widely. "I've missed the whole day!"

"You've been asleep an hour," his father informed him. "And you haven't missed one thing. Now, if you get your slippers on you can sit down for lunch. Chicken stew with dumplings."

Harry felt his tummy grumble and his outrage faded a little. "Okay," he conceded. "Just remember, I'm not a pre-schooler. I don't have naps any more."

"Understood."

Harry gave up his sulk and trotted back into his bedroom for his warm green slippers. His dad sure liked green, he mused as he sat on his bottom and pulled them on. Harry frowned when he looked up at his bed, only just then noticing that something was different. Still wiggling his toes into the soft slippers he stood up, reaching out and stroking the thick emerald curtain hanging around his bed.

"Like it?"

Harry spun, seeing his daddy leaning against the doorjamb. He nodded dumbly.

"The older children in the dormitories have them," his father continued, walking over and easily pulling the thick dark material around the bed. "I thought they might make you more comfortable in this big room."

Harry climbed back on the bed and pulled on the other curtains until he was surrounded by their warm comforting thickness. "It's like a cubby house," he whispered.

"If you say so," his father said, his voice fading as he walked away. "Your lunch is waiting."

Harry sat for a moment in the cosy dimness, feeling his love for his dad rise up inside him. Another present to add to his list, he thought and he picked up his doll and hugged him happily. That made four now with the one from Charlie's mum. Next to Merlin this was the best of all because it came from his very own father. Scrambling off the bed Harry raced into the round tower room and caught his dad around the waist in an impulsive hug.

His dad stood stiffly while he was hugged, then Harry felt a gentle hand touch the top of his head.

His dad's hand was always gentle.

"Eat your lunch, Harry," his father said and Harry nodded.

His dad also liked to make sure he ate all his food.

That was kind of like a present too.


	2. Chapter Two

"Harry, what are you doing?"

Snape smelled the blood even before the boy turned and his heart froze for a moment in his chest. He stepped forward and grasped Harry's pointed chin and tilted his head up.

"What happened? Who did this to you?" he said sharply.

Harry licked a drop of blood on his lower lip, and grimaced. His eyes were wide and shiny but his face was dry.

"I falled down," he said ashamedly. "I was climbing the bed curtain. I didn't break it!" He hurriedly added.

"You could have broken your neck," Snape muttered, gently pulling down Harry's lower lip with his thumb. "You've knocked a tooth out."

Harry nodded and held out one hand. A small tattered tooth lay in a drop of blood on his grubby palm.

"It was loose anyway," he admitted.

"It's fortunate we're going to see Madam Pomfrey. She'll take the pain away in an instant."

Harry nodded agreement and made to climb down from in front of the wide bathroom mirror, but his father stopped him with a touch to his arm.

"Why didn't you call me, Harry?"

Harry frowned. "I didn't make a mess," he insisted. "No blood on the floor or anything."

Snape stroked a small streak of blood from Harry's chin. "I'm not talking about the bedroom, Harry. You were hurt, you should have come to me."

Harry blinked, genuine confusion on his face. "Why?"

Snape was at a loss for words for a moment. "Because you can," he finally managed. "If you need anything you can come to me. That's what fathers are for." Or so he supposed, he'd never been one before and his own hadn't been an ideal role model.

Harry absorbed this for a moment, slanted green eyes thoughtful. "Do you kiss it better?" he said curiously.

"Do I what?" Now he was the one confused. His first thought was of some kind of healing spell, except Harry hadn't even known what a spell was a few weeks ago.

Shrugging, Harry climbed down from the chair. "Nothing," he said matter of factly. "I fall down sometimes. It's nothing to make a big fuss about."

"It's not nothing, Harry," his father said insistently, following him from the bathroom. He could hear echoes of those cold hearted muggles in that statement.

"You could have been seriously hurt. You must learn to come to me if there's a problem." He touched the boy's jet black hair gently and Harry stopped and looked up at him, eyes a little shadowed now. Snape met those eyes, wondering why he was making such a song and dance about this. Surely it suited him better for Harry to be self sufficient? He would have been the first to complain if the boy ran to him with every little scratch and scrape.

And yet... Harry was still such a little boy. Self sufficiency was one thing, but not even understanding enough to realise it was acceptable to seek comfort when hurt... He thought of the nights Harry had crept from his bed into the wardrobe. Was this why he hadn't sought his father out in the next room? Didn't he realise he could?

Snape crouched and grasped narrow little shoulders. "Harry. It's all right, you know? If you're hurt or afraid. Or just if you want to see me for some reason. It's all right to come to me."

"It's... It's a bother," Harry said uncertainly, lifting his hands and holding his father's forearms with slender little fingers.

Words came without bidding but they tasted right in Snape's mouth as he spoke them. "You could never be a bother." He caught his son's eyes, emerald darkened to jade in the shadowed hall. They looked back at him, the old fear in their depth almost more than he wanted to deal with. Almost more than he felt capable of dealing with. As usual words never felt adequate to reach this child.

He tightened his hands a little and Harry squeezed his arms, their eyes still locked together, jade green lightening a little as the moments stretched.

"Okay," Harry finally agreed, and Snape felt a little of the tightness in his chest ease.

"We should get you to Madam Pomfrey," he said, squeezing gently one last time before standing straight again. he kept on hand on Harry's shoulder and the boy circled his wrist for a moment, long little fingers soft and cool. Then Harry looked up at him and nodded, his smile showing the gap near his lower front teeth. "You remember you're to stay with her while I meet with Professor Dumbledore?"

"Can't I come with you to see the Perfessor?" Harry said quickly. "I'll be quiet."

"Not today," Snape said absently. "Come, Harry, or we'll be late."

888

Snape forced himself to take a deep breath and then another.

"You cannot be serious?"

"Severus," Dumbledore chided fondly. "Would I joke about something like this?"

This time he forced himself to count to ten, but he only got to four before his temper got the better of him. "Under no circumstances," he grated through his teeth. "Will that werewolf come anywhere near my son!"

"If you'd just think about it, Severus," Dumbledore began reasonably.

"No," Snape snapped, jumping to his feet. "I will not think about it! I have given into you every step of the way but on this I will not bend!" He paced the room, ignoring the muttering from the surrounding portraits in his rage.

"I wouldn't say you've given in," the headmaster denied reasonably. "And after all, hasn't everything worked out for the best?"

"Best?" Snape jerked to a halt, his long robe swirling round his ankles. "Best?" he repeated incredulously. "I've given up my life and my home to come here! I'm being trained for a job I have no desire or calling for, and living in a place I can scarcely bear surrounded by people who look at me and still see a snot nosed first former! How exactly is that best?"

Dumbledore steepled his fingers and looked thoughtful. Snape prepared himself for some maudlin soliloquy about Harry, but the old wizard merely inclined his head. "I appreciate that it must be difficult to work with witches and wizards who once taught you," he agreed.

"Difficult?" Snape spat angrily. "McGonagall once called me an addle-pated nitwit! In front of an entire class full of Gryffindors!"

"That was unkind of her," the headmaster murmured into his beard.

"And Binns once set fire to one of my essays. Set fire to it! Just because I'd misspelled a few goblin names."

"Bagnock the Brave, wasn't it?" Dumbledore recalled softly with that annoyingly pinpoint memory of his. "Or Bigcock the Brave as you renamed him."

"The Bold actually," Snape corrected with a smirk. He'd forgotten the prank that had led up to his humiliation at Binns hands. And actually, now he thought about it, McGonagall had only called him a nitwit when he transfigured her favourite thistle brooch into a toad that proceeded to hop out of the window.

He crossed his arms defensively. "This is all beside the point," he said loudly.

"The point being Professor Lupin."

"Professor?" Snape bit out sarcastically. "Who in their right mind would hire a werewolf to teach their children?"

"The parents of a child infected by a werewolf?" Dumbledore said quietly. "Such children aren't always welcome at schools and unfortunately prejudice against those afflicted can even run to family members. And sadly money is often too tight for folk in that position to afford a private tutor for long."

Snape remembered his desperate young customer and grimaced. Why were people constantly attempting to tug on heart strings he didn't possess? "So your candidate for the job of teaching my son is a wizard who is shunned by most of society and considered virtually unemployable by decent folk?" Snape sneered silkily. "I know you said you'd pay his wages but don't you think we can aim a little higher?"

"As it turns out I think Remus is perfect for the job," Dumbledore said firmly. "He will make a wonderful tutor for the boys."

And when he is 'afflicted'?" Snape said sarcastically. "He has a disease, headmaster! I will not take the chance that my son may contract it."

"You know better than that, Severus," Dumbledore said reproachfully. "At the times that Lupin is infectious he will be safely asleep, thanks to your marvellous potion." He paused for a moment. "Did I mention that his contract states you will be supplying him with the sleeping draught every month?"

Snape opened his mouth, silent in sheer outrage but Dumbledore rushed on, not giving him a chance to express it.

"Anyway, I'd have thought you'd welcome a werewolf nearby to experiment on, in a controlled manner of course. Dolly Bright tells me you're working on a more complex potion for one so afflicted?"

Snape gritted his teeth. "Dolly Bright is still a bloody great-"

"Well well, never mind!" Dumbledore interrupted jovially, eyes twinkling. "Seriously, Severus, it's not as if I have unlimited choice for the position. Qualifications are only one aspect. Lupin was a member of the Order and he has my absolute trust when it comes to both Harry and Neville."

"He doesn't have mine," Snape shot back. "Nor can I believe Mrs Longbottom will welcome a werewolf as a tutor for her precious grandson."

"You forget that her son and his wife were good friends of James and Lily as well as Remus and..." Dumbledore broke off, his lined old face sad.

"And Sirius Black," Snape finished nastily. "You all trusted him too. Look how well that turned out."

Dumbledore just gazed at him for a long moment and Snape finally looked away irritably. He hated how the old fool could make him feel like a worm without a word.

"Fine," he bit out, standing abruptly. "Hire a werewolf. I wash my hands of the whole matter. It's your responsibility, headmaster."

Dumbledore sighed and nodded his white head. "And like my other many responsibilities, Severus I do not take it lightly."

888

Snape swept down the corridor, anger driving his footsteps. He had another half an hour before he had to pick up Harry from Madam Pomfrey and he felt it prudent not to go back to the boy in his current mood.

Fuming silently his long legs ate up the worn stone floors, footsteps unconsciously leading him on old familiar pathways. It was a Hogsmeade afternoon and most of the school was empty. Out on the Quidditch pitch the first and second formers were enjoying their free run and the exclusive use of the school brooms. It was only as he felt the cold chill of the breeze on his face that Snape realised his footsteps had led him to the top of the Astronomy Tower overlooking the pitch.

How like Dumbledore to expect him to calmly accept a werewolf as a tutor for his only child and then turn it all around by looking hurt at accusations of meddling. The old troublemaker should have been awarded an Order of Merlin for the bloody sport, he certainly excelled in it. Look how he had dragged Snape into all this from his perfectly peaceful life!

Snape kicked at a crumbling bit of stone and sank back onto a familiar old seat. How many hours had he spent up here alone, attempting to study? Away from the torment of enemies and the sly machinations of housemates. Seeking peace.

Snape took a deep breath now and tried to calm his angry mind, feeling the quiet solitude of this high place soaking into him.

It wasn't that he had anything against werewolves as a whole, he mused reasonably. Only the ones that had actually come close to killing him.

Remus Lupin.

Snape scowled irritably. Of all the wizards in the world Dumbledore couldn't have picked one more designed to spark his bad temper.

Remus Lupin. The last of the Marauders.

Actually that was kind of pathetic when you thought about it, Snape thought, his mood improving slightly. The four Gryffindor hooligans who had thought themselves such bigshots and who had worked so hard to make his life a misery every chance they got. And where were they now?

Sirius Black. Mad as mongoose like the rest of his inbred family, locked away for life in Azkaban.

James Potter, recklessly getting himself killed before his twenty fifth birthday, and leaving Snape's own flesh and blood to be raised by his half blood wife's muggle family.

And that crawler, Pettigrew. Blown to bits by one of his best friends, serve the little rat right.

That just left the werewolf. Shunned by society, forced to beg for work from the man he had once tormented.

Hmm.

That was actually rather a pleasant idea if you thought about it.

Snape snorted, studying the view absently. That was not a good enough reason to resign himself to this. Employing a tutor for his son could not come down to petty revenge. This had to be about Harry and what was best for him.

After all, that seemed to be what every decision was about these days, Snape thought, not without some small measure of bitterness. Not that he resented or regretted his decision, not at all. But really, how many sacrifices was a man expected to make for a conception he hadn't even got a decent orgasm out of?

The setting sun was casting long reflections over the Quidditch pitch and Snape followed the path of one future Seeker as he boldly swung his broom through each of the three hoops in quick succession and then did it again without his hands touching his broomstick.

Snape leaned back against the cold stone parapet and closed his eyes. Perhaps it was time for honesty, at least to himself. He sighed deeply. Self truths. That was always such a bore.

He wondered if Dumbledore knew? Probably, that cunning old wizard always saw more than he let on. But it wasn't an unreasonable position to take, was it? After all, Harry was his now. He'd earned the right to call him that after giving up so much to be with him.

Was it so unreasonable then not to want one of James Potter's best friends teaching the lad?

Right now Harry was his and his alone. He heard Snape's version of events and trusted in them, innocent green eyes unquestioningly believing every word his father said. But the time would come, it would invariably come when Harry began to hear other versions of events, when Harry learned the truth.

All the truths.

Was it so unreasonable of Snape to want to keep Harry to himself for a little while longer?

And that's what he had to admit, and that's what Dumbledore had doubtless already figured out. He wasn't worried about Harry being infected by the Gryffindor werewolf so much as he was worried about the lad being influenced by him.

888

Below him on the pitch Snape noticed Madam Hooch whistling for all the brooms to be bought back to the shed and with a start he realised it was nearly full dark. He stood hurriedly, cursing under his breath. He'd promised to pick Harry up at four and he was well overdue. The lad would be worried.

The doors to the infirmary were wide open and ghosts were streaming out. Nearly Headless Nick doffed his head and spoke bracingly to him as he glided past. "Buck up, old chap! We'll find him!"

Suddenly panicked Snape rushed through the doors to be met by an anxious Madam Pomfrey, wringing her hands in her spotless white apron. "Severus!" she exclaimed. "Where have you been?"

"Where's Harry?" he said urgently, looking down the length of the ward.

"He was so impatient for you to arrive!" she said, hands still wringing the cloth. "He wanted to go looking for you but I said you were just late and you'd be along."

Snape caught her shoulders and shook them ungently. "Where is he?"

"I don't know," she whispered, her eyes damp. "He ran out of here and by the time I got out into the hall he was gone! I've sent the ghosts looking for him, and Mr Filch."

"Harry's afraid of the ghosts," Snape said impatiently. "Has anyone tried our rooms?"

"I sent some seventh year girls who were working with me today off to your tower. I'm so sorry, Severus-"

Snape cut her off, turning sharply on his heel. "I'll go to the potions dungeons, he's been there with me few times. Message me if he's found."

He hurried down the hall, cursing himself under his breath. He knew better than anyone how Harry worried every time his father left him alone. How could he be so thoughtless as to forget him?

Harry's name echoed down the corridors as he took the steps down to the dungeons two at a time. Students voices had joined in the chorus now and Snape concentrated on keeping his feet on the dark narrow stairs, trying not to think of Harry alone and afraid in one of these darkened halls. What if he wandered into an unsafe area? What if he met the Bloody Baron or Peeves the Poltergeist?

The dungeons were locked up tight and Snape pulled one of the everlasting torches from the wall and held it high to illuminate every corner of the dank old corridor, calling his son's name.

"Harry? Harry, don't be afraid, it's me. It's..." he broke off, leaning against one of the walls for a moment. "It's your stupid father," he finished to himself. "The one who forgot you while he wandered off in a bad temper. What did you think, son? That I'd gone away and left you? How could I forget every night when you quietly ask me not to go anywhere while you sleep?"

A flapping noise behind him had him spinning and he instantly spotted the paper bird that sped towards him. It opened its beak and Madam Pomfrey's voice squeaked out tinnily. "Severus! The Fat Friar reports Harry has been found outside! Some Gryffindor boys are bringing him in."

The paper bird flapped a moment or two longer before dissolving in a shower of confetti, but Snape barely noticed. Outside? That was even more terrifying than the thought of the child lost and alone in the castle. Outside was the Forbidden Forest and the depth of the lake and could Harry even swim?

Extinguishing the torch with a thought and flinging it aside Snape leapt up the stairs, counting the worn old risers with every heartbeat as he hurried back up into the castle and down the halls to the main entry. Ghosts were pouring down followed by students and teachers but the wizard barely noticed, his attention was on three students still mittoned and wrapped against the cold and the shivering child walking between them, wrapped in someone's discarded scarf and coat.

"Harry," he breathed in relief and Harry looked up and saw him, even though he couldn't have heard him from that distance. Bright green eyes devoured him for a moment, but Harry didn't break away from his guard and run towards him. Instead he dropped his chin to his chest and stopped dead in the middle of the hall.

Snape's long legs ate up the distance and careless of the watching crowd he dropped to his knees and ran rough searching hands over the boy, looking for signs of injury.

"He's all right, sir," a boy said and Snape tore his gaze away from Harry's bent head, looking up and seeing the black boy from earlier who had been playing with Harry in the snow.

Charlie Weasley was there too, still holding Harry's other hand and shivering a little. Snape noticed dimly that he was without his scarf and that the long woollen one wrapped several times about Harry's shoulders was red and gold.

"We saw him from a distance, sir, as we were bringing our brooms back to the shed."

"He was walking towards the forest," the black boy said. "And we didn't think he should be alone, sir. We bought him right back."

Suddenly aware of the staring faces around them Snape lifted an unresponsive Harry into his arms and held him close.

"All right, show's over," a brusque voice sounded and Professor McGonagall swept down the stairs. "Mr Weasley, Mr Thomas, Mr Oliver, I suggest you all get back to your dorms and dry off. We'll talk later about why you were so far from the pitch with your broomsticks."

"But, Professor!" Charlie protested. "If we hadn't been we wouldn't have spotted Harry! He was heading for the forest!"

Snape shivered and turned towards the staircase, pausing only for a moment to look around the crowd. "Thank you for your efforts," he said stiffly.

"Quite all right, dear boy," Nick said graciously, sweeping off his hat again and this time remembering to leave his head on his shoulders.

"You get that boy into a warm bed, Severus," McGonagall counselled softly in his ear before turning back to the crowd. "Away with you all now!" she ordered gruffly and reluctantly the gawpers moved on.

Harry was uncharacteristically silent in his arms and for a moment Snape wondered if he should take him to Madam Pomfrey to be checked out. But as he pushed past the people on the stairs he decided abruptly that all he wanted was to be back in their own little rooms with the doors shut and barred against these intrusive eyes and curious whispers.

"Come on, Harry," he murmured. "Let's get you home."

Harry stiffened in his arms and pulled back. Small hands came up and grabbed his shoulders, gripping like claws. "Home?" he said thickly and up close now Snape could see his face was red and swollen with shed tears, their tracks still obvious on his grubby little face.

"Our home," Snape said quietly.

Harry swallowed and sniffed, green eyes suspicious. Then they shuttered themselves again and the boy leaned his head back on his father's shoulder. "Where were you?" he whispered. "I looked and looked for you."

"Why were you outside?" Snape said tightly as he trod carefully up the stairs to the entrance to their tower.

Harry was silent as they reached the door to the tower and Snape softly spoke the password. Snape carried him over to the big soft armchair and sank down with him, sitting him on his lap and holding him close. "Harry?"

"I was lookin' for you," Harry said brokenly, then he was dissolving into tears, trying to hide his face in his hands.

Shocked and horrified Snape clutched the thin shaking shoulders and turned Harry's face into his chest, realising with a start that this was the first time he'd known the boy to shed a tear.

Now Harry was wracked with them, his narrow chest shaking, tears pouring out and wetting his father even through the fabric of his shirt and jacket. Snape could only hold him close, sensing that these tears were long overdue and perhaps even necessary. That didn't stop the guilt that choked him as his son wept his heart out against his chest.

For a moment he longed for someone else to be there, for someone else to take responsibility for this. It was all too much, he thought, panic filling him. He couldn't cope with this. Harry was too damaged, too scarred by a lifetime without love. He had no trust in him, how could he have when the very people who should have been comforting and reassuring him his life long had ignored and reviled him?

And yet he had love in him, Snape thought achingly, running shaking hands through Harry's soft damp hair. Much more than his father had ever had. Even at five years old, neglected and ignored as he had been he still had so much love in him.

"Harry," he whispered. "I know you don't have cause to believe me, son. But I meant what I said before. I will never leave you again."

"B- b- but you din't come," Harry sobbed, breath shuddering.

Hoping that the worst of the storm was over Snape cupped the silky little head and tilted it gently back. Groping for his wand with his free hand he summoned a handkerchief and gently wiped under tear swollen eyes. "I was just late," Snape said as reassuringly as he could manage, dabbing carefully at the sodden little face. "Madam Pomfrey must have told you I was just late."

Harry shook his head fiercely. "I mean before," he said loudly, pushing the handkerchief away with shaking hands. He sniffed and rubbed his eyes with his fists. "All the other times I wanted you and you never came! You forgot about me!"

There was a pain in his chest as he absorbed the blow of these words. How could he deny them? How long had Harry been holding them inside?

"I'm sorry, Harry." That was all he could say in the end. "I should have come a long time ago. I'm so sorry I didn't."

He waited to be pushed away again, for more shouting and scorn, knowing it was all he deserved and more, but instead Harry's narrow shoulders slumped and he leaned back against his chest, frowning fiercely.

"I'm still mad at you," he sniffed, rubbing at his running nose now and spreading copious amounts of snot across his face. Grimacing despite himself Snape set to work with the hanky again and this time Harry submitted, scowling fiercely.

With a pang Snape realised the boy had inherited more than his father's jet black hair and long nimble fingers. It seemed he had his temper as well. Seeing no alternative Snape doubled the handkerchief and held it to Harry's small nose. "Blow," he commanded resignedly and Harry did.

Reflecting that a man who regularly handled disgusting potion ingredients without flinching shouldn't be so squeamish about a five year old's snot, Snape banished the offending hanky to the clothes hamper and summoned another one.

"I don't blame you for being mad at me, Harry," he said carefully. "But I'm here now, aren't I? It's all right here, isn't it?"

Harry nodded grudgingly, and it occurred to Snape that if these were the first tears he'd seen then today was the first day he'd seen any signs of this temper too. Could it be a good sign? After all, this was the little boy who'd been worried he would be sent back to the muggles if he was bad. Despite his panic in the hall at the mention of 'home', had Harry gained enough confidence in their relationship to test it a little?

Wondering if anyone had written some kind of handbook on all this Snape again wiped wet eyes and cheeks. Harry was still scowling up at him and the look was so familiar he couldn't resist the urge that rose up in him to lean over and press his lips to the boy's creased brow. When he drew back the scowl was gone and had been replaced by a surprised expression.

"You kissed me," Harry said in wonder, lifting a grubby paw and touching the spot.

Slightly self conscious Snape shrugged, feeling Harry rise and fall in his arms at the motion. "I was comforting you," he said defensively.

"I didn't know daddies kissed their little boys," Harry said. He blinked a few times and then a corner of his mouth lifted and he smiled a tiny smile. "I liked it," he said shyly.

Snape sniffed to cover up his relief and embarrassment. "Don't get used to it," he said gruffly. "You need a warm bath and some hot cocoa." He set Harry back onto his feet and began to unwrap the damp red and gold scarf. "And then, young man, we need to discuss why you should never run away from Madam Pomfrey or anyone who is caring for you."

Harry submitted to the descarfing, eyes still wet but full of wonder.

"And then we need to talk about the Forbidden Forest and whether you can swim and what happens to little boys who wander where they oughtn't."

"Yes, daddy," Harry said, huffing a resigned sigh. But his tentative smile was still in place and Snape unbent far enough to tousle his unruly mop of hair.

"What am I to do with you, boy?" he sighed, but Harry only wrinkled his nose and smiled. Which wasn't really much of an answer, but would have to do.


	3. Chapter 3

"Now I don't want to have to repeat this, so listen carefully," Snape said firmly, lifting Harry up onto the high stool and putting his drawing book in front of him. "Don't get off the stool and don't try to touch anything. I will be working with ingredients that might be dangerous and flame that certainly is. Understood?"

Harry nodded obediently and opened his crayon box. "I'm going to draw a picture for Neville," he declared. "As a welcome present."

"So long as you do it quietly," Snape told him, beginning to assemble his potion components on the wide bench opposite. It was time to brew a few of his draughts and he had no choice but to bring Harry with him. Since the incident last week the boy had been a little clingy and it was undoubtedly easier to let him stay as close as he needed for now.

Snape would never have believed he could actually look forward to seeing Remus Lupin but that was certainly the case today. In fact right now he'd welcome anyone who would distract Harry. Fortunately the Longbottom boy was arriving this afternoon and tomorrow morning the boys would begin their lessons.

Snape admitted privately to himself that he was growing somewhat fond of Harry. That didn't change the fact that he could hardly wait for the boy to start spending all day at school.

In fact the thought of being able to sit in on Madam Bright's classes and still have time for his own work was positively cheerful and it was with a light heart that he began to measure ingredients into his cauldron.

"What are you making?" Harry said, looking up from his concentrated efforts.

Snape held a finger to his lips and Harry nodded. "Sorry," he whispered.

Snape gently scorched some seeds and tipped them into a mortar. He applied the pestle vigorously and quickly tipped the smoky powder into his brew, watching with satisfaction as it swirled into the mixture, tingeing the brew a metallic colour. He glanced up at a uncharacteristically silent Harry and was surprised to see the boy's eyes were focused on him in fascination, crayons forgotten.

The brew had reached a critical point and Snape counted automatically under his breath as he added the last of the ingredients, finishing it with a huge spoonful of pale rich honey which oozed into the bubbling brew and thickened it instantly. Immediately he lowered the heat and started stirring anti clockwise, muttering a spell under his breath. Finally his work was done and he pulled the spoon from the brew and left it to simmer. He inhaled the sweet scent with satisfaction, admiring the sensual slide of the now silver potion back into the cauldron as he carefully scraped the spoon so as not to waste a precious drop.

"You may speak now," he said, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

"That looks like fun!" Harry exclaimed. "It's like cooking, isn't it, daddy?"

Snape smiled, too content from his successful work to take offence. "These are medicines and potions I'm brewing, Harry," he corrected, sitting back onto a stool and automatically checking the low temperature under the cauldron. "Certainly not food. Do you remember what I told you about potions?"

"Never drink any potion unless you give it to me," Harry repeated by rote. "Was that honey you put in there, daddy? Was that to make it taste nice?"

Snape snorted. "Taste is not an issue in a potion, Harry. Honey is a living substance and it has great power in a mix. Some brewer's spend their entire lives studying the different effects that can be achieved through honey from different blooms and plants. Even different climates and regions." He realised he was lecturing and stopped with a grimace. "Perhaps they'll make a teacher out of me after all," he muttered.

"Can I make a potion too, daddy?" Harry carefully selected another coloured crayon and looked up.

"Perhaps some time," Snape allowed, still feeling generous. "I have another potion to brew, please continue to behave."

Harry nodded agreeably again and went back to his picture, tongue tip protruding as he scribbled industriously away.

888

"Why won't he come out and play with me?" Harry said miserably, pointed chin on his hands as he studied the closed door with brooding eyes. "I thought he was my friend!"

Snape laid his book down and sighed. "The boy's upset, Harry, surely you can understand that. He's probably missing his grandmother."

Harry looked doubtful and Snape had to silently agree. It was hard to imagine anyone missing that bluff old witch. Still, it was obvious she loved the boy, even if she didn't seem to know how to show it. And Neville had appeared composed enough during the gruff good byes and during dinner, although to be honest he hadn't managed to get a word in edgewise as Harry nattered away about how much fun they would have.

Harry shifted impatiently again. Neville had mumbled something about unpacking and disappeared into his room, closing the door firmly behind him and Snape guessed he was indulging in some tears. A private man himself he understood the urge for solitude, but Harry was having a more difficult time with it. Patience was not one of Harry's virtues.

"Why don't we see if he wants some supper?" Snape gave in. "There's a fine looking chocolate cake under a cover in the kitchen."

Harry leapt up and was at the door before Snape was on his feet, knocking gently and pushing it open.

Neville was laying on his bed in the dark, narrow shoulders hunched and Snape stood uncertainly in the doorway, wondering if it wouldn't be kinder to leave him for a little while longer.

But Harry had no such misgivings, he trotted to the side of the bed and hauled himself up. "This is a nice bed," he said conversationally. "The Perfessor and I picked it out together just for you. You should have seen the dust on it!" Harry faked a sneeze and giggled into his hands. "The Perfessor sneezes so loud his whole beard flies up!" Harry confided. "But we decided this was the best bed just for you."

Neville's shoulder quivered and his muffled voice was so soft Snape had to strain to hear it. "Why?"

"Cos it's the same as mine," Harry said as if it was obvious. "I told him that we're best friends and that mine was the best bed in the world and you should have one too. It took us ever so long to find it!" Harry shrugged and rolled his eyes theatrically. "Practickly all day!" he huffed.

Neville turned his head and looked at the designs on the ornate wooden headboard.

"And you've got curtains too," Harry reminded him, standing up on the bed and tugging them closed. Now Snape could only hear them, not see them. "It's cool isn't it? Like a cubby house!"

There was a sniff and then some movement behind the thick curtains. "What's a cubby house?" Neville said thickly.

"You know," Harry prompted. "Like a secret house all our own. And you can pertend that it's a fort or a cave or a pirate ship. Maybe it could be a space ship!"

More shuffling behind the curtain and Neville's voice was clearer. "What's a space ship?"

Harry laughed in surprise. "A ship that goes into space," he said in an isn't-it-obvious tone of voice. "Fancy you not knowing that?"

"W- w- well you didn't know what Gobstones was," Neville said defensively.

There was a moments silence and Snape found himself leaning forward anxiously. Please don't start to squabble, he begged silently. That might actually finish me off.

"That's true," Harry finally agreed, his voice grudging. "My aunt and uncle were muggles and they din't tell me about magic and stuff."

"Really?" Neville sounded amazed. He sniffed again and Snape winced. Little boys seemed to be made up of fifty percent snot at times.

"Yeah," Harry confirmed. "But I don't talk about them any more. My daddy gets real mad when I do and his lips get all thin. It gives me a sore tummy when he gets mad."

Snape felt his own stomach clench at the candid little confession.

"He's a bit scary," Neville agreed in a small voice.

"He just looks that way," Harry assured him. "He gets a scary face sometimes, but he's not really. Not with me cos I'm his boy and he loves me."

"I'm not his boy," Neville said, his voice sad. "What if he gets mad at me?"

"He won't," Harry said confidently. "He gets mad at other people but he won't get mad at us. You're my best friend and..."

Snape hoped he could live up to such faith. He frowned as Harry trailed away.

"And what?" Neville said curiously and Snape nodded, repeating the query in his head.

"Well," Harry said slowly. "I was thinking... You and me could be like brothers, couldn't we? And take care of each other and stuff?"

"Could we still be best friends?" Neville asked anxiously.

"Of course!" Harry said scornfully. "Don't you know brothers are best friends too?"

"Oh."

Silence while Neville absorbed this inside the curtained bed and Snape absorbed it outside. He was constantly amazed at the way Harry's mind worked. Was it his own great capacity for love that drove him? The need to have the family he'd been denied his life long? He was building one now, idolising his unworthy father, adopting a brother. What was next? A mother?

Snape felt a sweat of panic break out on his forehead at the very thought. Especially as he ran over a list of available candidates here at Hogwarts.

"All right," Neville finally agreed and Snape came back to the moment with a bump. "Will you tell me about spaceships then?"

"Sure!" Harry said enthusiastically and Snape took the opportunity to slip away. He sat back down with his book but he couldn't seem to achieve any sort of concentration.

“Why do I get the feeling I've bitten off more than I can chew?”

888

By breakfast the next morning Snape was utterly sick of spaceships and cursing the ridiculous muggles who ever came up with the idea of building them. He thought that if he had to admire one more picture of Spacemen Harry and Neville he might actually scream. He did admit that Neville's drawing of a graceful galleon floating amongst stars and planets had been particularly effective, though Harry seemed to find it hilarious for some reason.

The sight of Remus Lupin standing in the doorway of the old nursery was almost welcome.

Snape had a boy on each side of him and he glanced down at their half frightened little faces with foreboding. This would all go much smoother if they actually liked their lessons.

"Good morning, boys," Lupin said cheerfully. "I'm Professor Lupin."

"Morning," Neville mumbled.

"Hello," Harry said, gazing up curiously. "Are you a Perfessor? I thought you were a toota?"

"You may just call me Mr Lupin, if you like," Lupin said, smiling kindly. "It's easier to pronounce, isn't it? Would you like to look around your new classroom?" He stood aside and the boys glanced at each other before sidling past him inside.

Snape had to admit the space was being used very effectively. The huge round room directly above their own quarters in the tower was a former nursery for the potions master who had raised his eleven children here at Hogwarts. It was surrounded by wide windows, safely barred but still providing a stunning view over the crags and the lake. Colourful portraits of old fashioned classrooms and students circled the room, one of them made a cheeky face at Snape and he frowned repressively at it.

There were two desks and chairs in the centre of the room but there were benches all around with an array of interesting items, including a large tank filled with greenish water which had drawn Harry and Neville to it like magnets.

"Severus," the tutor said with a cautious nod.

"Lupin," Snape bit out quietly. It wouldn't do for the sharp eyed Harry to see his dislike of the new tutor. He wanted the boys to enjoy their new schooling.

He really really wanted that.

"I have the boys lesson plan here if you'd like to look over it." Lupin handed him a piece of parchment and Snape reluctantly took it, glancing over the neatly drawn tables.

"Art and Craft?" he drawled. "Music? Dance?" He shook his head. "Surely the boys time could be spent more profitably?"

"They're five, Severus," Lupin said with a raised brow. "What would you suggest, Advanced Arithmancy?"

"But dance?"

"Little children enjoy music and movement," Lupin said knowledgeably. "The loud noise, the vigorous exercise, especially when the weather might not permit outside activities." He slanted a sly look at Snape. "Think of all the excess energy it will expel."

At that moment a little green face appeared against the glass tank and Neville squealed loudly, causing Harry to shriek with laughter and Snape to wince.

"I see what you mean," he allowed. "Lupin, I'm coming around to Dumbledore's view. No one deserves this job as much as you." Folding the plan he handed it back, allowing himself an evil smirk. "I really mean that."

Lupin accepted the parchment, suppressing a rueful grin. "Thank you, Severus, I appreciate the thought and the sentiment behind it." He took a deep breath. "Better get started then." He gestured with his wand and a small bell on the desk lifted into the air and chimed. Harry instantly looked around and hurried to a seat and after a moment Neville followed his lead, taking the other seat and copying Harry's every move as he sat up straight, hands on the desk.

"Well done," Lupin praised and Harry beamed. "Remember, when I ring the bell you take your seats and pay attention. Say good bye to Mr Snape, boys, school is about to begin."

Harry looked over at him, his smile fading a little. "Bye, daddy," he said in a quiet voice.

"Bye." Neville waved shyly.

"I will be in the tower all day," Snape said, ostensibly to Lupin but making sure Harry heard. "In the dungeons with Madam Bright and then in my lab." He waved a hand and sketched a small wave and Harry relaxed a little and waved back. "See you at lunch, boys."

Closing the classroom door was a relief but just for a moment there was a kind of sadness too. Harry had been all his for the last month, his total and complete responsibility. There was something a little poignant in handing over some of that responsibility to someone else, even if it was for only six or so hours a day.

The sadness lasted until he was about halfway down the steps before the sense of freedom kicked in. He'd have died under torture before admitting it, but it was just possible Severus Snape was happy as he headed down to the dungeon.

888

By lunchtime Snape had to admit to some curiosity about the boys progress. He slipped away from the back of a truly woeful first year potion lesson while Madam Bright was haranguing a purple and green coloured Hufflepuff girl and pointing out her mistakes.

Had Harry been alright without him? It was the first time they had been parted for any significant time since the incident the week before and Snape found himself picturing a dozen different scenarios in his head as he climbed the steps up to the classroom. What if Harry had cried? Or misbehaved? How exactly was the werewolf planning on punishing infractions in class anyway? Wasn't that something a responsible parent would have asked before dumping his child and gleefully running away?

The old doors in the tower were thick but not quite thick enough to prevent sound from escaping, and Snape could hear the music before he reached the landing. Reining in his impatience he turned the handle and pushed the door open a little before peering in.

Harry and Neville were in the middle of the floor, their desks and chairs pulled to the windows and neatly stacked. The boys were standing side by side following closely the movements of their teacher as a squeaky old machine played a raucous tune. Snape watched in fascination as his childhood nemesis swivelled his hips and sang loudly to the accompanying music.

"If you're happy and you know it shake your legs!" he boomed and Harry and Neville chuckled and shoved each other as they attempted to follow Lupin's movements, shaking first one leg and then the other. Harry was warbling along at the top of his voice, and alas, Snape noted, the boy had inherited his father's singing talent as well.

"If you're happy and you know it and you really want to show it, if you're happy and you know it shake your leg!"

The music died just as the bell on the table rang and Harry and Neville collapsed onto the floor, giggling and nudging each other playfully.

"Whew!" Lupin said, wiping his forehead and grinning widely. "Thank you very much for sharing that song with us, Harry! Perhaps you might know one we can use tomorrow, Neville?"

Neville stood up, dusting off his robes and shrugging. "My gran didn't sing many songs, Mr Lupin," he said doubtfully. "My great-uncle used to sing one sometimes, but I don't think you can dance to it." He covered his mouth and chuckled. "It was a bit rude I think."

Harry looked interested. "Rude?"

Snape judged this an appropriate time to intervene. He pushed the door open and stepped inside. "Ready for lunch, boys?"

"Daddy!" Harry exclaimed happily, trotting over to him. "Did you see us dancing? That was my favourite song from my school! My old school," he added hastily.

"Yes, I was fortunate to catch the last verse," Snape said, catching Lupin's eye. "It's quite possible I shall never forget it."

"You should have joined in," Lupin said innocently, a flush on his pale cheeks. "What do you say, boys? Shall we ask Mr Snape to dance with us next time?"

Neville looked scandalised at the idea but Harry just smiled and grabbed his father's hand. "My daddy doesn't dance," he explained confidently. "Dancing is only for little kids."

"And tutors apparently," Snape said smoothly, squeezing Harry's hand.

"Can Mr Lupin come to lunch with us?" Harry asked eagerly.

"I think Mr Lupin might like a little quiet time to relax," Snape said, hoping he was concealing how appalled he was by the very idea. He knew Dumbledore had assigned the new tutor rooms nearby but that was the extent of his knowledge on the subject. It was his fervent hope that the two of them wouldn't even have to meet outside this classroom.

"Professor Dumbledore has asked me to dine in the main hall," Lupin informed them. "But thank you, Harry, for the kind invitation. Shall we walk down together?" He offered Neville his hand and the youngster took it shyly. Snape wondered if this was some kind of dig at him as they walked down the stairs together. He would have held Neville's hand if the boy had indicated a desire to. The blasted werewolf hadn't given him a chance.

"See you in an hour!" Lupin waved and continued down the corridor to the hall.

"Can we eat with the big kids sometime?" Harry called as he and Neville washed up and Snape uncovered their waiting meal.

"Perhaps, if we're ever invited." Snape checked their hands before allowing them to sit at the table. He'd never met a child like Harry for getting grubby, apparently he had the ability to attract dirt even while sitting perfectly still in a spotless room.

Not that Harry ever sat still.

Still, Snape had to admit that evening that Dumbledore's arrangements were working quite well so far. Instead of having to find tasks to keep an active five year old occupied all he had to do now was ensure two active five year olds didn't destroy their rooms or themselves while they invented new games to play together.

Apart from a brief period as a referee when the boys argued whose drawing was the best Snape had barely had to intervene. He had been forced to amend his no-more-than-four pictures on the kitchen wall at once rule to allow Neville equal space, but after that he'd had a quiet and peaceful evening with his book in front of the fire. Deciding the boys deserved a treat he whipped up a batch of cocoa and divided the remains of the chocolate cake.

Harry, with a five year old's uncanny ability to smell chocolate at fifty paces came belting into the room and beamed happily when he saw the treat. He opened his mouth to yell for Neville but fortunately caught his father's eye. His propensity for 'bellowing' was being nipped in the bud.

Soon the two boys were ensconced by the fireplace munching cake and drinking hot cocoa with blissful expressions on their faces.

"Mr Lupin says we're going to make picture frames in Craft," Harry told him, licking his chocolate moustache. "I told him about my mummy's picture and he said we can make them tomorrow."

"I'm going to make one for my parents," Neville volunteered softly. "Mr Lupin said he'd take a photograph of me to put in it. As a present," he finished on a whisper.

"That sounds pleasant." Snape reflected that he was going to get tired of hearing about Mr Lupin very quickly indeed. "Time for your baths." He glanced at the clock on the wall. "Who wants to go first?"

Harry stared at him, appalled. "We want to have a bath together," he said as if amazed his father could imagine it any other way. "With bubbles."

Snape looked at him doubtfully. "This is bath time, Harry, not play time. The bathroom is not the place for hi-jinx."

"But if we have a bath together we'll have time to play too," Harry pointed out cunningly and Snape was forced to agree with this logic. He was also quite proud of the boy for coming up with the idea.

"We'll give it a try," Snape agreed. "But mind me, Harry! Neville! No dangerous play or in future you will bathe separately in one inch of water and no bubbles."

"Yes, sir," the boys agreed, chastened by such a dire threat.

888

Snape sat on Harry's bed and smoothed the covers over his yawning son's chest. "I like my new school, daddy," Harry confided.

"I guessed." Snape drew the curtains around until they were enclosed in a little cosy cocoon. Harry hadn't strayed to the wardrobe to sleep since the curtains had been installed and Snape congratulated himself on the brilliant idea.

"Daddy?"

"Hmm?"

"Will you kiss me good night?"

This was new and Snape stared at him in surprise. "If you like," he allowed, wondering if perhaps Harry was still more uncertain than he seemed.

"But when you say good night to Neville don't kiss him good night, okay?" Harry hurriedly ordered him. "That's just for daddies and their own boys. Okay?"

Snape studied the small worried crease between Harry's eyes. It had never even occurred to him to say good night to Neville but he hastily revised that plan. The child was doubtless lonely and missing home and could probably do with some reassurance. Harry obviously needed some too.

"You're the only boy I kiss," Snape said honestly, and he leaned over and gently pressed his lips to Harry's brow.

"But you can tuck him in," Harry said graciously.

"Thank you, I will." Snape tousled unruly hair and illuminated the little globe before leaving his son's room and heading for Neville's. The little boy was laying on his back with the light on staring up at the ceiling. Relieved the child wasn't weeping Snape came and awkwardly sat on the edge of the bed. Neville watched him warily.

"I thought you might like a night light," Snape offered, transfiguring a glass ornament from the bedside table into a globe like Harry's and illuminating it. "If you want it to go out just blow on it."

"Thank you," Neville said in a small polite voice.

"If you want me I'll be just down the hall." Snape smoothed the covers over Neville's chest and tried to smile. The boy just blinked at him and Snape sighed and stood, turning off the lights with a muttered Nox. He paused in the doorway and looked back, wondering what the child was thinking and feeling. There was no doubt that Harry's more obvious emotions made him easier to read at times.

"I hope you'll be happy here," was all he could think of.

888

In the night he woke and automatically stumbled down the hall to check on Harry. He peered in through the curtains and cursed under his breath when he saw the bed was empty. A quick check of the wardrobe revealed it was also empty and shivering on the cold floor Snape crossed the hall to Neville's room. Parting the curtain of the boy's bed he breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the two children laying side by side.

Neville's head was on Harry's shoulder and he was drooling a little onto the thick night gown. Harry snuffled in his sleep, cuddling his Merlin under his chin. The night lights lay together next to Neville's head on his pillow. Wondering just who had needed whom in the night, Snape drew the curtains closed and went back to his own bed.

888

"Neville was crying," Harry revealed as he dressed the next morning. Neville was in the bathroom brushing his teeth and Snape automatically straightened Harry's dragon jumper around his narrow little hips as the boy donned his robes. "He missed his gran and everything."

"I'm sure he'll get used to us," Snape said, wondering, not for the first time how a man who'd never wanted children had ended up with two. "And he'll be going home on the weekend."

"He likes it here," Harry revealed, letting his father help him with his socks and shoes. "It's just new and scary. I was a bit scared when I came here too."

"Were you?" Snape murmured and Harry nodded.

"A bit. But I'm all right now. Neville will be too."

Snape brushed a strand of unruly black hair off Harry's forehead, fingers stroking the old lightening bolt shaped scar. "You're a wise little boy, Harry."

Harry beamed. "And a good dancer too," he bragged.

"I noticed."


	4. Chapter 4

"Ah, there's Mother Duck," Ali said with a chuckle. "But only two little ducks came back," he sang under his breath.

"You're weird," Freddy Thomas stated, rolling his eyes. He glanced out the window Ali was looking through and laughed despite himself. "Although you have a point."

A few others at the homework table peered out and began chuckling. Down in the forecourt soon-to-be Professor Snape was striding along, cape billowing, and behind him his two little caped shadows scampered and capered to keep up.

"Wonder what sort of Professor he'll make," Charlie Weasley said, head propped dreamily on his hands.

"He'll have to be better than Dastardly Dolly," a fourth year girl named Nancy piped up.

Bill Weasley nudged her. "You keep telling yourself that, girl," he teased and she snickered. "I heard he rousted a couple of First Years outside the dungeons the other day for making too much noise. Had Lawson's sister crying."

"Lawson's sister cries if someone frowns in the next room," Freddy snorted. "She's wet as a whale sandwich."

"All the same, it seems strange," Charlie went on thoughtfully. "I mean, Harry Potter's been this legend like, as long as I can remember, right?"

The others nodded.

"And then one day he's just this snot-nosed kid playing in the snow. It's weird."

Nancy shrugged. "I don't see what's so weird about it. He's a real person, isn't he? Did you think he wasn't?"

"Yeah, I know he's real," Charlie went on. "What I'm saying is that he's been in safe hiding for years and years and now he suddenly appears at Hogwarts calling this Snape fellow 'daddy'? That is weird."

"Yeah, and when did Harry Potter become Harry Snape anyway?"

"You've seen the scar," Bill reminded his younger brother. "D'you think it's fake?"

"Nah." Charlie waved a hand. "I think the scar's real enough. It's the daddy who's fake."

Others at the table who'd ignored the conversation up until then leaned forward.

"What d'you mean?" one of Charlie's classmates asked breathlessly.

"Isn't it obvious? Look, our dad works at the Ministry, right? Well he said the Ministry's been looking for Harry Potter since the night You-Know-Who went and got himself blowed up. Or whatever."

Gryffindors the length of the table shifted uncomfortably.

"So?"

"So suddenly Harry Potter appears with this convenient father in tow. And the Ministry can't touch him."

"Yeah, but who'd come up with a lie like that?"

"Who else?" Charlie said significantly. "Dumbledore."

"Yeah," Freddy said thoughtfully. "Dumbledore'd do anything to protect Harry Potter. Even tell the world a whopper like this."

"Our mum knew the Potters," Bill said, still looking out the window. "I remember her saying how devoted they were to each other. So how could this Snape guy be Harry Potter's father?"

"If he isn't then why would Dumbledore say he was?" Nancy protested. "I mean, doesn't that suggest it's this Snape character telling all the lies? He looks a right evil git."

"Dumbledore'd see through that in an instant," Freddy said confidently. "Nah, he's in on it."

"Snape's like James Potter's second cousin or something," Charlie confided. "Dad told me when I wrote."

"Well, I've only been in the wizarding world two years," the second form girl volunteered. "And so far it seems like every bloody body is second cousins. Which actually explains a lot," she finished under her breath and then ducked as quills and parchment flew at her head down the length of the table.

"Seems to me this is too big a lie even for Dumbledore," Charlie said thoughtfully. "I mean, if the Ministry want to find out the truth, they will."

"Dumbledore is the greatest wizard of our age," Freddy reminded him, chucking a Chocolate Frog card with the headmaster's image on it at Charlie's head as a reminder. "If he's cast a spell so people will think this Snape bloke is Harry Potter's father, they'll believe it."

"I'm not so sure," Charlie said doubtfully.

"You don't think they'd take him away, do you?" Nancy said, her eyes darting to the small figures running on the grass. The others looked at her and she shrugged a little self consciously. "I mean, he seems happy enough, right? It seems kind of cruel to think of taking him away from his dad."

"It's the Ministry for Magic," Charlie said soberly. "They can do whatever they like. Right?"

888

Snape had one eye on his mail and one on Harry over the breakfast table. Every Saturday morning it was the same; they suffered an hour of bad humour from the five year old as he came to terms with Neville going home for the weekend. At least it was better than Friday night, Snape mused to himself, absently scanning a sale brochure from Albion's Apothecary. After seeing Neville of to his Gran's after school on Friday the little boy usually sulked right through dinner and went to bed in a funk.

Fervently hoping that Harry would grow used to the routine eventually Snape attempted to lighten the mood. "What should we do today? I have the morning free."

Harry shrugged and chewed disconsolately at his cold toast.

"Didn't you want to collect some interesting rocks for your Science Table at school?" Snape prompted, willing himself to remain patient.

"How will Neville get rocks?" Harry asked suddenly. "He said his Gran doesn't like him going outside."

"Perhaps we can get enough for both of you?"

A letter caught his eye and he frowned as he scanned it, getting to the bottom before going back to the beginning and reading it again.

"Severus," it began baldly. "As you are no doubt aware my boys Charlie and Billy are playing in a Quidditch match next Saturday."

Snape wondered why she would assume he would be aware of any such thing. Or even care for that matter.

"I am writing to invite Harry Potter and young Neville to come and eat with us at the Gryffindor table after watching the match."

Having completely failed to notice a match was being held Snape had to also why wonder she should assume Harry would be attending.

"I am bringing my youngest boy, Ronnie, who has just turned six, to watch his big brothers play. He and your boys will be good company together I'm sure."

"My boys?" Snape read incredulously.

"What?"

Harry was looking at him curiously and Snape realised he had spoken aloud. He folded the letter and laid it on the table.

"Harry," he began thoughtfully. "How would you like to watch a Quidditch practice today?"

The child looked blank. "What's Quidditch?"

Snape frowned. "Hasn't Neville mentioned it to you?"

"Uh uh," Harry shook his head emphatically. "What is it?"

"It's a wizard sport, played on broomsticks."

Harry's eyes widened and brightened. "The flying children?" he breathed. "We watch them from class sometimes, flying around. Are they playing a game then?"

"Sometimes. If you're interested we can watch their practice today. If you're not interested we'll go rock hunting."

_And if you lose interest I'll have a reasonable excuse to turn down Molly Weasley's offer,_ Snape thought to himself.

Harry stuffed the rest of his soggy toast in his mouth and downed his milk with a gulp. "I'm interested," he assured his father thickly. "I'll get my boots on."

"And your cape and gloves and hat," Snape called after him. "The snow may be gone but that northern wind's still got a bite to it."

888

Harry's eyes were like saucers as they climbed to the lowest tier in the stands and he immediately ran to the guard rail and peered through. "Look!" he shouted. "Flying!"

"Sit down, Harry," Snape ordered sharply and Harry backed up and shuffled onto a seat, never taking his eyes off the team that circled around the pitch, practicing their tight formations.

"Wow," Harry breathed, head craning to see everything.

So much for not being interested.

"Why do they have bats, daddy? And what are those things flying around? And why are there three big round hoops up there?"

Snape patiently began to explain the rules of Quidditch to his son, only realising as he went through them how complex the game must seem to an outsider. It was probably all too complex for someone Harry's age, Snape thought. The boy seemed to be taking it all in though, nodding his head thoughtfully and even asking pertinent questions. Snape found himself quite proud of his quick grasp.

"Being the Seeker sounds most exciting," Harry declared. "He pointed to the smallest figure on the broomsticks, flying solo high above the others. "Is that the Seeker, daddy?"

Recognising the flare of red hair even if Harry didn't, Snape nodded. He supposed he would have to bow to the inevitable and expose Harry to the tribe Weasley. Unless he conveniently forgot to mention the actual game to Harry...

"Why are they stopping?" Harry asked in disappointment.

Snape followed his gaze. "Their Team Captain is advising them on strategy, Harry." Harry tilted his head curiously and his father explained. "A plan to win the game. They'll begin again in a few minutes."

"Oh." Harry kicked the chair legs while he waited, then climbed to his knees and peered up the stands behind him, then leaned over and peeked under the seat.

"Do stop fidgeting, Harry." Snape helped him back into an upright position, dusting off the knees of his trousers which were already covered with grime. "Try to learn a little patience. Sometimes in life one must simply wait."

"Yes, daddy," Harry said obediently, sitting back in his chair. He studied his father for a moment and then carefully copied his pose, hands resting on his thighs, back straight, legs crossed at the ankles. They sat for a small while in silence.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"In muggle stories and things, well, witches ride brooms, but wizards don't."

"Is that so?"

"Uh huh. I mean, yes," Harry corrected himself, and Snape nodded to acknowledge the attempt at correct speech. "But you know what else?"

"No."

"Wizards have wands but witches don't." Harry frowned. "At least I don't think they do."

"It just shows you what muggles know," Snape sniffed disdainfully.

"They think magic's all pertend, don't they daddy? Aunt Petunia used to say..." Harry trailed off and shifted guiltily in his seat.

Recalling the boy's confidence to Neville a few weeks before Snape decided the time was right to correct a wrong impression.

"I don't mind you mentioning your muggle relatives, Harry," he said, trying to keep it casual. "I know it might seem as if I do. But you must understand, I'm not angry at you. I'm just angry at the way they treated you."

Harry shrugged, managing to convey with the wordless gesture that angry was angry and he didn't much like it.

"I'll try to control my temper in future," Snape promised and Harry shrugged again.

"I don't like to 'member them much," the boy admitted. "I forget them mostly. I can't hardly remember what they all looked like now, unless I think really hard."

"I'm glad," Snape murmured, but Harry didn't hear him, the team had taken to their brooms again and Harry jumped off his seat in his excitement and was hanging onto the railing and waving at the players. A rider skimmed the stands and Harry shrieked ear splittingly as he recognised his friend.

"Charlie!"

"Hey, nipper," Charlie grinned, skimming slowly by and then doing a tight turn and skimming back.

"Ooh, Charlie, you can fly a broom! You're so lucky!"

"Not luck, squirt," Charlie grinned with a wink. "That's pure talent. Come down and talk to us after practice, all right?"

"All right!" Harry nodded enthusiastically. "Daddy! My friend Charlie likes dragons and can ride a broom!"

Harry sighed with open adoration and Snape settled back into his seat, resigning himself to many many years watching matches in these drafty old stands.

888

Harry was speechless with admiration as the players landed and sauntered over to where they waited. Charlie ruffled the boy's hair and introduced a few players, including his big brother, Bill.

"You look awfully smart in your uniforms," Harry said, gazing at the leather accoutrements in admiration.

"Did you get our mum's invite yet?" Bill asked, smiling innocently at Snape in a way that instantly put the wizard's teeth on edge.

"Yeah, she wants to know if you'll eat with us in the Main Hall after the big game next Saturday, Harry," Charlie added, leaning on his broom. "To celebrate our victory."

"A little cocky aren't we, Mr Weasley?" Snape couldn't resist saying silkily.

Another player nudged Charlie. "Don't you put the mockers on it, Charlie Weasley!" she said severely. She winked at Harry. "Ravenclaw have still got a chance."

"Nah, not in my book." Charlie gave Harry a wink too and the boy giggled behind his gloved hand.

Deciding he couldn't stand any more Snape deliberately took a step back.

"Come, Harry."

Harry took his hand and smiled up at him. "May I eat with Charlie and Bill and their mum, daddy?"

With good grace Snape mustered a nod and Harry beamed. "I'll cheer for your team, Charlie!" he said excitedly.

The players waved as they walked away and Bill called after them. "Don't forget to invite your new little mate too!"

Harry stopped in his tracks and gazed up at his father in dismay. "Oh no! The game's on Saturday and Neville won't be here! He'll be ever so disappointed!"

Snape tugged gently on his hand and Harry followed, frowning heavily. "Poor Neville," he said mournfully. "He has to go back to his stuffy old Gran's house and now he'll miss the big game. And dinner in the big hall too!"

Snape glanced down at the child trotting obediently by his side. "Did Neville tell you he doesn't want to go back to his grandmother's house?"

Harry shook his head emphatically and Snape breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't need any further complications in the tangled web Dumbledore had woven of their lives.

"It just sounds really dull," Harry expanded.

"That's your opinion, Harry and I'll thank you to keep it to yourself," his father said sternly. "That's Neville's home you're talking about and he wouldn't appreciate hearing you speak about it in such a fashion."

Harry looked chastened. "Yes, daddy."

Now Harry was dragging his feet, his buoyant mood gone and Snape sighed and made a small sacrifice, reflecting that he was rapidly being turned into some kind of martyr.

"Perhaps we could ask Mrs Longbottom if Neville could stay for the game," he offered and immediately Harry's face brightened.

"Ooh, could we?"

"I'll send an owl tonight. But, mind me, Harry! If she says no then we won't mention it to Neville, understood? It would only disappoint him."

"Okay." Harry smiled sunnily. "I could draw her a picture of the Quidditch game," he volunteered. "Perhaps she doesn't know how exciting they are?"

"A fine idea," Snape praised and Harry beamed again.

888

Neville was treated to rapturous descriptions of the most brilliant game on earth from the moment he arrived back on Sunday night. The boy was always a trifle subdued after returning from his grandmother's home so Snape didn't attempt to curb Harry's enthusiasm, letting it cover Neville's long silences. By dessert Neville was becoming enthusiastic, although he confided that he'd never seen an actual Quidditch game before, having only listened to matches with his Great Uncle on the radio.

By the week's end Snape could hardly wait for the match to be over, although he strongly suspected that enthusiasm for the popular sport would not be waning any time soon. His only satisfaction was in imagining that Lupin must also be growing tired of the subject, seeing as how every piece of work brought to Snape in the evening to be admired seemed oddly Quidditch themed.

"I got all my letters right, daddy," Harry bragged on Friday night, beginning their evening ritual of showing off their work and craft after their baths while sipping cocoa by the fire. Neville was holding his paper up and Snape also admired the boy's neat rounded writing.

"Well done," he praised and the two boys nodded and smiled.

"See my Q, daddy?" Harry pointed out. "Q always has U after it, isn't that funny? I wrote 'quidditch', and 'quickly' and I got two ticks."

"So did I," Neville pointed out quickly.

"For homework we have to write a sentence with 'quidditch' and 'quickly' in it."

"That's pretty easy." Neville considered his page. "I'm going to draw a picture after I write it, are you, Harry?"

Wonderful, Snape thought. Because we don't have enough pictures of broomsticks, clay statues of broomsticks and sentences with broomstick mentioned six times each.

"Oh, and I forgot!" Harry said suddenly, pausing in his act of reaching for another biscuit. "Mr Lupin said my adopted daddy was a Seeker! Did you know that?"

Mug at his lips, Snape froze as Harry chattered on.

"And he played for Gryffindor and that was the House my mum was in as well."

"Harry thought it meant they lived in a house called Gryffindor," Neville chuckled and Harry wrinkled his nose.

"Don't laugh!" he protested with a giggle. "Anyway it sort of means that."

"No it doesn't," Neville shot back. "They live in a common room, my Great Uncle Algy told me so, and they have a fireplace and they toast crumpets and play Gobstones. Uncle Algy was in Hufflepuff, like my mummy, but my daddy was in, um, I can't remember."

"They are hard names to remember," Harry allowed. "Daddy, what are they all called?"

"What?" Snape looked down at their expectant faces. "Finish your cocoa, boys, it's nearly bedtime."

"But it's Friday!" Harry protested. "Can't we stay up late?"

"Not if you want to watch the big match tomorrow," his father said firmly and Harry turned down his mouth but obeyed.

"I'm going to go out for five minutes while you finish up," he said and Harry looked up at him in surprise. Easy to understand why when his father had never before left them alone, let alone left their rooms of an evening.

Checking that the guard on the fire was securely locked he shrugged on his coat and pulled out his wand, summoning a house elf to the room. Pickle appeared and bowed low.

"Hello, Mr Pickle!" Harry called.

"Hello," Neville said more shyly.

"Just Pickle, young masters," the elderly house elf said with a smile and a bow. "Just Pickle."

"Will you keep an eye on our quarters while I go see the boys tutor?" Snape asked politely. A house elf would never be given responsibility for a child but could be trusted to summon him if there was any trouble. And as they were the only creatures who could apparate within the school they made very good messengers.

Pickle bowed low again. "An honour, sir."

Snape paused at the door, the steam of fury that had been driving him idling for a moment as he saw the curiousity and touch of fear in Harry's face.

"I won't be long," he reassured. "I just need to see your tutor about tomorrow."

"Oh, is he sitting with us then?" Harry asked, relaxing happily. "Good."

888

Dinner was long over and Snape made his way to the staff common room where he understood it was Lupin's habit to spend some time of an evening. Long legs eating up the quiet halls Snape finally gave his temper free rein, playing Harry's words over in his head.

He just couldn't resist, could he? He just couldn't wait to start filling Harry's head with tales of his hero father and his daring exploits. How long would it take before the other little hints surfaced, the sly digs at wonderful James Potter's greasy little enemy, the Slytherin, Snape?

"May I speak with you?" Snape bit out as Lupin looked up from his armchair by the fire. It was a few nights since full moon and the werewolf looked old and tired as he levered himself up from his chair. Snape could find no sympathy within his heart for his old adversary. There was too much bitterness there.

"Severus?"

Gritting his teeth against the familiarity Snape led the way out of the room to a nearby classroom, igniting the lamps with a flick of his wand and then carefully putting it away before the temptation to do violence with it became too strong.

"Are the boys all right?" Lupin asked as he followed him into the room.

"Why shouldn't they be?" Snape asked silkily. "Don't you trust me with them? Is that the poison you're going to drip into Harry's ear next? That I can't be trusted?"

Lupin gazed at him in confusion. "Poison? What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you!" Snape hissed viciously. "Filling Harry's head with tales of James Potter! I won't have it, do you hear me?"

"I'm sure half the school can hear you," Lupin said coolly, pushing the door closed behind him. "I assume you're talking about the fact that I merely mentioned James in passing-"

Snape snorted. "In passing? Who do you think you're fooling? I'm sure you've been dying for a chance to drop his name into the conversation, haven't you?"

"I could have mentioned James a hundred times in the last month!" Lupin challenged hotly. "But I didn't!"

"Why?" Snape pounced. "Why now and not then? Waiting to make sure your employment is secure? Seeing what you can get away with?"

"You don't employ me," Lupin said angrily. "Dumbledore does. And he never said I couldn't mention James and Lilly."

"Well I'm Harry's father and I'm saying it!"

Now Lupin snorted derisively. "Harry's father? Don't make me laugh."

Snape's instant rage rendered him momentarily speechless. He could only glare at Lupin standing before him looking triumphant. After a few moments he finally found his voice. "What?"

Lupin waved his hand in dismissal. "I don't know what scheme or spell you and Dumbledore have cooked up between you but you're fooling no one. That boy is the living image of James and you know it. Except for Lily's eyes of course."

Anger was cold within in him now, white cold. "Came to that conclusion all by yourself, did you?"

"It doesn't take a genius. Anyone who knew James can see him in the boy." Lupin leaned forward aggressively. "I don't know why you are doing this, Snape, and I don't suppose I want to know. I'm assuming as Dumbledore's involved it's for Harry's own good so I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. But don't think you're going to take that boy over and pretend his real father never existed, because he did!"

"And I have the scars to prove it," Snape said hoarsely, "So you see yourself as the defender of the great James Potter?"

"Don't speak about him that way," Lupin said angrily. "You didn't even know him!"

"No but I knew his wife," Snape said with his most provoking smirk. "Intimately." He watched with satisfaction as Lupin absorbed this. The werewolf clenched his hands into fists.

"How dare you," he breathed.

"You want a truth, Lupin? Perhaps you deserve some measure of it. You are the last of that sad bunch, those famed Marauders. You ought to hear some real facts for a change."

"As if I'd believe your lies," Lupin said, but his voice was a little less sure.

"Strutting arrogant James Potter had it all, didn't he? Born under some bright star, he could do no wrong. Friend and teacher alike turned a blind eye as he charmed and bullied his way through this fine institution."

"It wasn't like that," Lupin protested, but his eyes slid away just a little as he spoke.

"I don't have to tell you," Snape said pointedly. "You were there. The only thing that saved you was that you were in his house. How many times did you wonder, Lupin, what your school life would have been like if you'd been sorted into a different house from Potter and Black?"

Now Lupin wouldn't meet his eyes at all. "You really didn't know him," he said quietly. "People change. They grow up. They even have regrets, something you wouldn't understand."

Snape leaned back on a desk and adopted a thoughtful air. "Perhaps it was regret that drove them to me that day," he mused aloud. "When they came to beg me for something that Perfect Potter couldn't provide. Seems that star he was born under had a use-by-date. All that luck ran out."

"What do you mean? What James couldn't provide?"

"What he couldn't give her." Snape smirked. "The gift that they had to turn to me to give them."

Lupin swallowed hard. "Gift?" he whispered.

"Harry," Snape said triumphantly. "My son."

"That's a lie!" Lupin shot back. "It has to be a lie! James would have told me, or Sirius..."

Snape was shaking his head, laughing unkindly under his breath. "Told his admirer and his friend that he wasn't quite the wizard he was cracked up to be? That his wife was pregnant with my child? Really, do you think he would have done that?"

Lupin groped for a chair and sat down heavily, as if his legs wouldn't hold him up any more. "He looks like James."

Snape snorted. "How like a Gryffindor," he said scornfully. "They were ever ones for judging by looks alone."

Lupin looked up at him, amber eyes dazed. "I don't understand."

"You don't have to," Snape spat. "All you have to understand is this. Harry is my son. Mine." He clenched his fists and turned away, feeling to his astonishment a sheen of angry sweat on his palms. How could he let this absurd creature make him so angry? What did he care if Remus Lupin of all people didn't believe Harry was his son?

How many other people out there didn't believe it?

"Harry has been told some simple truths," Snape went on hoarsely, mastering his unruly feelings under his calm mask. "That his mother and adopted father are dead. Until he is old enough to understand more then that is all he needs to know."

"And when will that be?" Lupin beseeched. "Can you understand how I feel about this? Whatever James was to Harry he loved him! I know that, I saw it with my own eyes. And Lily..." Here Lupin faltered and raised a hand to his eyes. "She loved him more than her life. He was their life, both of them. It feels as if you do them a disservice now, burying their memory as if they never existed."

"To Harry they might just as well not have," Snape said bluntly. "He has had a harder life than you know, Lupin, and wallowing in memories of things that cannot possibly matter to him now will only hinder his progress, not help him."

"But when the time is right," Lupin began carefully, then broke off. "I believe you care about the boy," he said unexpectedly.

"My feelings are irrelevant," Snape said stiffly, caught off guard.

"I'm just saying," Lupin said delicately. "That I'm sure your love for the boy will outweigh your desire to insult the memory of two people who are long dead, and can no longer defend themselves."

"Yes, you sound sure," Snape drawled sarcastically, then shook his head. "I have no desire to insult them. As you so rightly point out they are dead and no threat to me."

"Then why all this tonight?" Lupin asked with a brief return of heat.

"I told you. I will not have Harry burdened with the past right now." He shrugged irritably. "Any of our pasts."

Lupin absorbed this for long moments. On the wall an old clock ticked out its seconds loudly. Finally he broke the silence. "Are you talking about my past or yours now?"

"Do you think he would understand either? As you pointed out to me the day the boys began school, Harry is five years old. How can he possibly hope to understand the complicated mess we all made of our lives back then?"

Lupin scratched his head ruefully. "I'm not sure I understand it myself."

Snape echoed the sentiment in his head, feeling the buzz of rage and scorn finally fading. "It was a long time ago," he said, which was as close as he could come to acknowledging that the past was finally becoming less important to him than the present.

Lupin gazed away for a moment, his eyes distant. "We all made mistakes," he whispered. "We all did things we're not proud of."

"Blathering about them now won't change them," Snape said hastily. He still hadn't forgiven the werewolf his scornful words, he certainly didn't want a heart to heart with him.

"No, but neither will brooding about them," Lupin said pointedly. "Look, can't we put the past behind us too? For the boys sake?"

"I'm willing to be civil as always," Snape returned politely.

"I was hoping for something a little warmer," Lupin said meekly.

"One may hope, I suppose." Snape smirked.

And Lupin could only shrug and agree.

"Does this change your feelings now?" Snape said abruptly. "For Harry? Now that you know whose son he is? Or isn't?"

"He's still Lily's son."

"That's not an answer."

Lupin actually smiled. "I could love Harry just for the way James felt about him," he said huskily. "Blood or no. But in truth he's an easy child to love in his own right. As I'm sure you've noticed."

Snape merely gazed at him blankly.

"Why did you give Harry his mother's photograph?" Lupin said curiously as they extinguished the lights and left the room. "When Molly sent it?"

"It was a small enough thing." Snape stared at his old enemy across the dim hall. "Harry has her picture and his name," he revealed. "But the rest of him is mine."


	5. Chapter 5

Snape and the boys ate breakfast at the staff table at Professor Dumbledore's invitation. Harry was so excited he could barely spoon his porridge into his mouth, his wide eyes were devouring the large hall and the four rows of long tables.

"Look, Neville," he said loudly, waving across the room. "There's Charlie! And that must be his mummy! Hi!"

Molly Weasley was indeed already ensconced at the table and she waved a napkin gaily, nudging another red headed child by her side. Students at the table around her were chuckling and waving back at Harry's unselfconscious greetings and other students in the room began to crane their necks and stare at the newcomers.

"Harry! Sit down at once," Snape ordered sharply. "You're making a spectacle of yourself."

Only slightly abashed Harry sat back and spooned up some more porridge. "She looks nice doesn't she?" He looked around happily. "I like eating in here!"

"I like the sky," Neville said in wonder, gazing up at the magical ceiling, today showing a high blue sky with little fluffy clouds scudding lazily across it.

"Ooh," Harry gazed upwards, openmouthed, porridge dripping down his chin. "How do they do that?"

Snape leaned forward and spoke quietly. "Harry Potter, have you forgotten all the manners I've been teaching you for the last few months? If you cannot behave yourself better you will certainly not be allowed to eat dinner at the Gryffindor table today."

Harry hastily dabbed at his mouth with his napkin and sat back in his chair, finishing his porridge quietly. "Sorry, daddy," he said contritely. "I was just excited."

"It's too early to be so excited," Snape said firmly. "You have a long day ahead of you, boys. Pace yourself."

"You boys eating at the Gryffindor table today?" Professor Flitwick trilled from down the table.

Harry glanced at his father before replying. "Yes, sir. My friend Charlie's mum invited us."

"I was a Ravenclaw myself," the tiny teacher proclaimed proudly, gesturing towards the tables.

"Harry and I are going to be in the same house as our dads," Neville piped up bravely and Harry nodded enthusiastic agreement.

Flitwick opened his mouth to speak but closed it again after a quick glance at Snape's face. "Well, well," he said jovially. "It doesn't always work that way, lads."

"I like the birdie," Neville said, pointing at the pennant over the Ravenclaw table. "It looks jolly."

Flitwick chuckled around his pumpkin juice. "I've never heard our proud symbol described just that way before," he admitted. "What about you, young Harry? What do you like?"

"I think the lion is quite fierce looking, sir," Harry said politely. "But the snake is very cool. And the badger is an interesting animal, my teacher Mr Lupin said so."

"Very diplomatic," Flitwick said approvingly. He turned to his side. "Hear that, Minerva? Young Harry and Neville think all the houses look quite, er, what was that word, Harry? Cool?"

Harry nodded again and dabbed his lips with his napkin. "May we be excused, daddy? We'd like to talk to Charlie before the match."

Neville gulped the last of his milk and wiped his mouth clumsily before looking over anxiously. Snape leaned forward. "You may," he allowed. "But mind me, boys! I will be watching your behaviour closely."

"Yes, daddy!" Harry said, sliding off his seat and pushing it back under the table. "Come on, Neville!"

"They must be quite a handful for you, Severus," Minerva McGonagall said, watching with a fond eye as the two five year olds raced down the hall and were greeted by her house.

Snape sipped appreciatively at his own tea. "Not at all, Minerva," he said sedately. "A little firmness and very clear expectations are all that is needed for children their age."

"And affection," McGonagall said pointedly.

Snape acknowledged the comment politely, most of his attention on the Gryffindor table where Molly Weasley was engulfing the boys in an enormous bosomy hug. Even from where he sat Snape could see that Harry looked quite overwhelmed by the experience, although he was smiling widely a moment later when the newest red headed boy was shoved forward by his mother.

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Harry pushed his hair a little flatter as he noticed more of the big children around him staring at his scar. He'd never really thought much about it before, but now he found himself wondering a little nervously why it seemed to be getting so much attention. Mrs Weasley had her arm around Neville's shoulder and was chatting with him about how he liked being at school for the first time. Next to him Ronnie Weasley was staring at him, one finger in his mouth.

"Are you really Harry Potter?" he asked curiously.

Harry nodded.

"Oh." Ronnie seemed to think about it for a while. "Want to see my Boomerang Ball?" he said, slipping his hand into his pocket and pulling out a bright red rubber ball. "You can play catch with yourself. If you throw it away it comes back."

"Cool," Harry said, studying the battered looking ball in Ronnie's grubby paw. "Will you show me later?"

"Sure," Ronnie said generously. He nodded at Neville. "Is he your brother?"

Mrs Weasley's attention was caught by Bill and Neville trotted down to them and sat at the table.

"We're like blood brothers," Harry explained. "That's even better than real brothers cos we chose each other."

"Wish I could choose my brothers," Ronnie said darkly.

"I like your brothers!"

"Not them two," Ronnie dismissed. "Fred and George, my other brothers. My mum teaches us at home and they always tease me and stuff. And they hardly ever play with me."

"You can play with us," Neville invited generously and then looked over at Harry as he always did.

"Yeah," Harry said excitedly. "We could have a club and it'd just be the three of us!"

"No twins allowed!" Ron crowed and Neville nodded and beamed.

"Harry?" Mrs Weasley called and Harry trotted over. "Ask your father if you can watch the game with us in the Gryffindor box, instead of with him, will you?"

Harry bit his lip nervously. He liked Mrs Weasley, especially her squashy hugs, but he really wanted to watch the game with his dad.

"Mr Snape's real strict," Neville put in helpfully and Harry nodded fervent agreement. "He won't let us sit with anyone else."

"He likes to look after us, you see," Harry expanded. Mrs Weasley was watching him narrowly and Harry again flattened his hair nervously.

"Well, don't forget to come eat with us after the match then," she reminded him, and Harry smiled.

"We won't! Can Ronnie play with us this afternoon?"

We're not going home right away, are we, mum?" Ronnie asked anxiously and his mother kissed his freckled nose.

"Not right away, no," she said fondly and Ronnie grinned and rubbed his face.

To Harry's surprise she leaned over and kissed his cheek next before engulfing him in another warm hug. He found his eyes drifting closed as he breathed in her scent, he thought that she smelled all good and toasty, like fresh bread and butter. And it felt so nice to have her arms squeezing him and her soft lips bussing his face. "What a lovely boy you are," she murmured proudly.

Then it was Neville's turn for a hug and the other boy was blushing as she set him away and stood up.

"Come on, Ronnie," she said briskly. "Let's go and find some good seats and get settled."

"Bye!" Ronnie waved and the two boys stood side by side as the large hall emptied around them and the children filed out. All of a sudden Harry wanted his daddy and he hunched his shoulders, rubbing at his cheek were Mrs Weasley had kissed him. He almost remembered something now, someone else's soft touch and loving murmur in his ear...

"Harry?"

His father's hand rested on his shoulder and Harry turned into his leg and buried his face in the folds of his familiar velvet coat. It had its own scent, dark and spicy, like the shops Aunt Petunia used to hurry them past when they walked home from school, full of mysterious fruit and veg hanging from the ceiling and rustling in the breeze.

"Harry?" his daddy said again, lifting him into his arms. "Are you all right?"

"He likes Mrs Weasley," Neville said sombrely and Harry peeked down and saw the other boy was leaning against his father too, his round face tight. "She hugs like a mum," he said simply and his daddy laid one hand on Neville's head.

"Come, boys," he said quietly. "Let's find a good seat in the stands, shall we?"

Harry's dad carried him to the stands but Harry quietly said he could climb the stairs on his own. Adults and teachers filed past them up the creaking stairs and his dad put him down and crouched by him, offering a clean hankie.

"Blow," he ordered and Harry did, folding the hanky and tucking it into his own pocket. His dad never did want a hankie back once it had bogies on it . The thought made Harry smile a little and his dad cocked his head to the side. He never smiled with his mouth, Harry's dad, but he smiled with his eyes and Harry felt himself uncoiling a little inside at the sight. His dad's eyes were mostly black but they were a warm and shiny black right now and Harry smiled back.

"Did my mum used to hug me?" he asked curiously, his voice sounding like he had a sore throat.

"I expect so," his dad murmured. "Mothers generally do."

Neville nodded emphatically. "Mine did," he revealed. "And she sang."

"I like your hugs too, daddy," Harry reassured him.

For a moment he thought his dad would hug him but then he knew he wouldn't, not out here. Not in front of all these people. But he did clap his hand gently on his shoulder and then usher them up the stairs to find their seats.

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Neville went home after tea and Harry sparked out on the soft armchair five minutes later, his newest friend Ronnie by his side, mouth open and snoring gently. Mrs Weasley pulled a throw rug from the back of her own armchair and laid it over their laps tenderly.

"What a pair of firebrands," she whispered. "I'm sure they'll be the best of friends."

"They'll be in First Year together, won't they?"

Molly nodded, sipping her tea with a sigh. "But that's a long way off," she said comfortably. "I've three more at home to see off to school first, and then another after this one."

Snape stared at her, open mouthed, not even caring that he must look like a total fool. "You're joking," he said weakly.

Molly chuckled. "Always wanted a big family," she confided. "Like my own. Lots of little ones running around, a house full of life and love." She looked around the round tower room and huffed a small nod. "I must admit, this place is cosier than I imagined," she admitted grudgingly.

"Did you think I had them locked in the dungeons?" Snape snapped, the habit of answering fight with fight too ingrained to ignore.

"Yes," Molly admitted candidly. "Something like that." She smiled into his astonished eyes. "Well, you must admit, even in the old days you never went out of your way to be friendly. Even when we were on the same side."

"What has friendship to do with raising a child?" Snape asked blankly.

"Plenty! Children learn by example, and I'm not sure James or Lily would want little Harry learning from your example."

Snape clenched his jaw, closing off all expression from his face. "Then perhaps Lily should have chosen another father for her child," he said silkily.

Molly's cheeks reddened a little. "I didn't mean anything like that," she said hastily. "What I meant to say was that Harry might need some other influences in his life, that's all."

"Volunteering yourself by any chance?"

"Why not me?" Molly said reasonably. "I wasn't close to James and Lily, it's true, but we were friends. And a boy should have a female influence in his life, don't you think?"

"Don't you have enough children to mother?"

"Obviously not." Molly smiled sweetly. "The offer's for Neville as well. Both boys could do with some affection. Not that you aren't affectionate," she said hastily. "I didn't mean that!" She laid her tea down with a shaky hand. "Oh, bother," she said crossly. "This isn't coming out right."

"Perhaps you should just make your offer," Snape said, growing bored by the whole thing. Was this how it was going to be? Lupin, McGonagall, this Weasley women? Was he going to have to justify the way he was raising his son to everyone he met?

Molly looked taken aback. "Offer?" she faltered. "I was just hoping to see Harry again, that's all. Have him and Neville over for tea now and then, perhaps to stay in the hols? Ronnie would love some company his own age and why are you shaking your head?" she finished exasperatedly. "Can't you at least hear me out?"

"Not about this," Snape said quietly, casting a glance at the boys to ensure they both still slept. Harry was snuffling into Ron's shoulder, cuddling comfortably against his warmth. "Mrs Weasley, does it not occur to you to wonder why Harry and I are here of all places?"

"You're going to work here, aren't you?" Molly said uncertainly.

"I'm going to work here because this is where we live now. Fortunately I have skills that make me employable as a teacher, or I might have found myself trailing along behind the groundskeeper for my living."

Molly frowned, eyebrows knitting. Then realisation dawned and her face cleared. "Oh," she breathed, hand flying to her mouth. She looked over at Harry and her son, worry clouding her features now. "Oh my. Harry's still in danger, isn't he?"

Snape inclined his head, lips thin with impatience.

Molly was shaking her head. "What a fool you must think me," she said quietly. "It's been so long I'd started to forget you see. What it was like." Her eyes were still on the sleeping children. "I so hoped they wouldn't have to grow up with all these fears and worries."

"I will protect both those children as much as I can from such worries for as long as I can. Fortunately Harry loves his home and his school." Snape clenched his fingers around his teaspoon, feeling the old silver bend under his fingers. "Which is just as well, as this place will virtually be his prison for the next dozen or so years."

"And yours too," Molly said perceptively, dabbing at her eyes with her napkin. She sniffed once or twice and then shook her head briskly. "Well, so that makes it trickier. But I still want to see the boys, be an influence in their lives." She fixed him a earnest look. "Will you let me? Not to replace in any way anything you can do for them. Just as addition, sort of thing. Please?"

Snape recalled Harry's distress earlier and was tempted to reject the offer out of hand. But then he remembered dinner time and the smiles and laughter from Neville and Harry at the Gryffindor table as they drank toast after toast to the team. It was true Molly's presence had caused Harry to feel the loss of his mother more keenly for a few moments, and perhaps he would feel that again and shed tears over it.

But if he could gain any sort of comfort from the relationship, shouldn't he? There had been tears in his eyes for a little while, but most of the day he had hung from Molly's arm and pressed against her side, vying for her attention with every child near her.

His own feelings on watching Harry with her were irrelevant.

"Perhaps something can be arranged," Snape said finally. "But if I feel it is having any adverse reactions on the boys I will put a halt to it immediately."

Molly smiled broadly.

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After they were gone Snape sat in the darkening room, listening to Harry sleep. Had he just agreed to share his son with someone else? Another old Gryffindor? Had he done the right thing?

Suddenly restless he stood and pulled on his cloak before gathering Harry into his arms, blanket and all.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked sleepily as they climbed some stairs. He rubbed his eyes against his father's shoulder and cuddled close. "Is it night?"

Snape emerged into the Astronomy Tower and strode to the balcony, pushing through the glass doors and finding his old familiar seat against the wall.

"What is this place?" Harry sat a little straighter on his father's lap and looked around the dim balcony curiously.

"I used to come here when I was a boy," Snape revealed. "Look, Harry." And he gently tilted Harry's head back.

The child's eyes opened wide behind the round lenses of his glasses as he took in the Milky Way cutting a swathe through the sky above them. "Wow."

"Yes."

They sat in silence for long minutes, gazing upwards at the endless band of glimmering stars that shone down on them.

"Neville would like this," Harry whispered.

Snape held him closer, feeling the aching vulnerability of small fragile bones against his body. It scared him sometimes, how open Harry was to others, how far he let them inside himself. He dreaded the thought of the inevitable pain such unguarded intimacy would one day bring.

"I know you miss Neville when he goes home," Snape said tentatively, wishing he were better at words, especially the important ones. "And that you like the Weasleys. But you must try not to rely so much on other people, Harry. Sometimes if we give too much of ourselves to others they can... hurt..."

But Harry didn't appear to be listening, his eyes were on the cloud of stars above them, mouth open in wonder. "There's so many of them," he was murmuring. Then he blinked and looked into his father's eyes. "I do miss Neville when he's gone," he confided shyly. "But this is good too, daddy. When it's just you and me, when I'm just your boy."

"I... I like it too," Snape admitted hoarsely. Harry was looking at him and he tried to smile into that dear little face, he really did. But Harry was smiling at him anyway and then he was resting his cheek against his neck just as he had the first time he had been lifted into his father's arms.

And Snape felt it now as he'd felt it then, as he'd felt it every day since in a smaller, more intimate way, that rush of magic moving through him, like blood through veins. Warming him, calming him, making everything clear. Now he knew what it was.

Love, of course.

Had he just been telling Harry not to give of himself? How ironic! When the one true gift he had ever given of himself, (and to old enemies at that) was the best thing he had ever done.

What if he'd never given that gift?

His arms tightened of their own accord around his boy as he thought how close he had come to never having the only thing in his life worth anything.

"Why did you come up here, daddy?" Harry was whispering, breath warm against his father's neck. "When you were a little boy?"

"I came here when I felt alone and somehow the stars made me feel better."

"Now you're not alone any more, are you, daddy?"

"No," Snape admitted softly.

Harry sighed in contentment. "Me neither."


	6. Chapter 6

"Daddy, where are you? Help me!"

Sweat streamed down his face and into his eyes, stinging and blinding him. His hands were tangled, tied, feet struggling to break free, straining against his bonds. He tried to call for Harry but the boy's cries had turned to screams and were fading, growing fainter and now it was tears blinding him as he wept and screamed and fought to get to his son.

"Harry!"

Severus Snape woke with a start, his heart beating like a hammer in his chest. In his dream he had twisted and turned, tangling the bedclothes around his sweaty limbs. Heart still pounding he collapsed back against his pillow, feeling the ache in his muscles burn as he panted like a runner.

Just a dream

Another dream.

Disentangling himself Snape swung his legs over the side of the bed and pressed his hands to his eyes, sweat dampened hair falling around his face. Then he pushed himself to his feet and stumbled down the hall.

Harry's curtains were still drawn closely as usual despite the warmth of the April night but a careful peek assured him the boy was sleeping peacefully, Merlin under his chin. The soft glow of his nightlight illuminated the tiny frown between his brows and this sight more than anything helped still Snape's panicked breathing. Harry always slept so earnestly.

A quick glance at Neville assured him all was well with his other charge and a few minutes later he was relaxing back in his armchair with a much needed cup of tea.

It wasn't difficult to understand where these nightmares were coming from. But knowing didn't make them any easier. Didn't take away the urge to gather Harry up in his arms and hold him close, assure himself his son was safe and well.

But he did resist the urge - it wouldn't be fair to disturb Harry's peaceful slumber just because his father was haunted by the dark shadows in his past.

Harry had already paid enough.

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Snape stood by the window waiting for Dumbledore, idly watching the giant squid sunning itself in the shallows far below. His eyes felt heavy and gritty this morning and he rubbed at them wearily, glad it was a Saturday and he didn't have to face thirty pairs of curious eyes. Doubly glad he had until Monday before he had to worry about teaching his first solo class under the watchful eye of Madam Bright.

"Sorry to keep you waiting." Dumbledore swept into the room and seated himself comfortably behind his chair. Looking over he smiled and then frowned a little in concern. "Are you quite well, Severus? You look tired."

"I'm fine." Snape returned shortly. "You wanted to see me?"

The headmaster surveyed him shrewdly for a few moments over his half moon spectacles then looked down at some paper on his desk.

"I thought you might want to know the news reports about Harry's disappearance from the muggle world have all but vanished."

Snape shrugged carelessly. "I'm surprised they held anyone's attention for this long. It's been months."

"Harry seems to have touched some kind of chord with the muggle public," Dumbledore said with a sigh, settling back in his seat. "Sparked debate about their child welfare systems for example."

"Do they really have such things?" Snape wondered. "It didn't appear anyone was looking to the boy's welfare when I fetched him."

"That's a trifle unfair, Severus," Dumbledore reminded him.

Snape just shrugged again, irritably this time. This was old ground and he wasn't in the mood for it today.

"Perhaps it might cheer you up to hear the Dursleys have been hounded out of Surrey." The headmaster ruffled his newspaper. "Apparently they were recently voted Britain's Most Unpopular Family by..." he peered at the small print. "A popular newspaper's unanimous poll."

"Oh, yes, that cheers me up tremendously," Snape exclaimed sarcastically. "That certainly makes up for years of neglect and abuse. I'll tell Harry he can fall asleep in his own bed like a normal child now, shall I? He can stop hoarding food and worrying that he's going to be abandoned again?"

Appalled, Snape closed his mouth with a snap, shutting his eyes in humiliation, unable to look over and see the worry in Dumbledore's eyes. "I do apologise, headmaster," he whispered roughly. "I-"

"Severus." Dumbledore's hand was gentle on his shoulder. "Sit down, son."

Snape stepped back, carefully removing himself from the caring touch. "I'm fine," he insisted tightly. "I shouldn't have snapped like that. I, er, haven't been sleeping too well."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Dumbledore indicated a seat by the desk but Snape shook his head, backing away, the sting of embarrassment still on his cheeks.

"I must get back to Harry," he muttered before fleeing.

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This time it wasn't a dream of Harry's voice that stirred him from his slumber, but a small hand on his arm and a tearful voice that had him awake in an instant. Harry was standing by the bed knuckling his eyes and sobbing - the sight of the boy in tears alarmed Snape and had him up and swinging around.

"Harry?"

One hand grasped a fragile shoulder, the other groping for his wand, eyes scanning the dark corners of his chamber and down the hall.

"What is it, Harry?"

Harry hiccoughed a sob and sniffed, swollen eyes peering up at him. "I wet my bed," he sobbed, dissolving into tears again.

Shoulders slumping in relief Snape drew the boy closer, sensitive nose already flaring at the acrid scent of urine. He cupped Harry's fragile neck to comfort the distressed child then frowned. Laying his wand on the bed he touched his free hand to Harry's cheek, cupping the soft roundness in concern.

"You have a fever, Harry," he said worriedly to the now shivering child, gathering him into his arms despite feeble protests.

"I'm wet," Harry's objected weakly.

"It's all right," his father reassured him. "It's not your fault. You're not well."

"I don't feel so good," Harry confirmed with a sigh, laying his head on his father's shoulder. "I'm sorry, daddy, I haven't peed my bed in ages and ages. I'm a big boy now," he finished miserably.

Snape barely heard him, closer like this he could feel the damp fever of the boy's skin and the shallow breaths he took. "Let's get you cleaned up," he said worriedly, carrying him across their quarters to the bathroom. "And wake Madam Pomfrey, all right?"

"You won't tell her I wet my bed!" Harry said in feeble alarm as the tub swiftly filled and his father stripped off the wet nightshirt.

Snape patted his back comfortingly, this kind of pride he could understand. "Of course not," he murmured. He considered the swaying child for a moment before pulling off his own nightshirt and lifting him easily again. Stepping down into the sunken bath he felt Harry sigh as they sank down into the tepid water.

"And you won't tell Neville either?" Harry sat docile under his fathers application of the flannel, an unhealthy flush on his cheeks. Snape wrung out the cloth and wiped the child down gently, frowning as Harry sighed to feel the coolness on his skin.

"I won't tell anyone. Ever," he vowed and Harry's eyes drooped.

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"It's going around," Poppy confirmed, her work worn hand firm on Harry's brow. "I give the students a good dose of Pepper-Up potion and steam it right out of them but I think Harry's a little young for that."

Harry's eyes were closed and he leaned back against his father's chest, fretful tears running down his cheeks, lashes damp and spiky. Even through his fresh nightshirt and dressing gown Snape could feel the unnatural warmth of his skin.

"Do you have any willowfew?" Poppy continued and Snape nodded curtly. "Infuse some in boiling water and let it cool. Give him half a glass every few hours and make sure he has plenty of liquids in between. If that fever's not broken by morning you bring him back quick smart."

Snape looked around the crowded infirmary at the dozing children, his first instinct to suggest they both spend the night here to be closer to the mediwitch if she was needed. But it was clear the beds were all full and Madam Pomfrey had blue shadows under her own eyes.

She clapped a brisk hand on his shoulder. "He'll be fine, Severus," she said bracingly. "Childhood's full of sniffles and fevers. You caught this one early so it's bound to get a bit worse before it gets better. Well done though."

A child a few beds down moaned in her sleep and with another squeeze to his shoulder the witch bustled away, leaving Snape on the hard old chair with his arms full of sick child. But despite his worry his heart was full now too, because her words had sparked a sudden realisation.

Harry had come to him.

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Wrapped in a blanket Harry dozed on the soft armchair while Snape brewed the infusion of willow bark and feverfew to bring down the boy's temperature. The wizard's mind was racing as his hands deftly performed the simple task.

For the first time when he needed him Harry had reached out for his father. The stoic little boy who had curled up in the bottom of the wardrobe rather than seek comfort, who had suffered injury without a tear rather than be a bother to his father had sought him out in his moment of need.

Blowing gently on the steaming brew Snape sat by Harry and stroked damp black hair from his brow.

"Harry," he whispered and the child sighed and curled closer to his hand. Snape cupped his warm cheek and stroked a calloused thumb over its baby soft smoothness. He never doubted that Harry loved him, the child's heart easily embraced everyone who reached out to him, gathering them close and cherishing them. But was Harry finally starting to trust him too?

When the tea had cooled sufficiently Snape gently woke the child and helped him sit straighter.

"You need to drink this, Harry," he murmured and Harry focused blurry eyes on him, obviously still more asleep than awake. Like a baby bird he obediently opened his mouth, grimacing as he swallowed the bitter brew. He managed half the mug before fretfully pushing it away, but his father was satisfied and lifted a glass from the table. Harry protested but Snape smoothed his hair back again and rubbed his cheek soothingly.

"It's pumpkin juice, Harry. To take the taste of the medicine away."

Harry took a mouthful and turned his head away but Snape insistently held the glass to his lips. "A little more," he coaxed and Harry took another sip.

"Good boy. Let's get you back to bed."

"It's wet," Harry protested, pulling back from his father's hands.

"I can dry it," Snape reassured him but Harry was shaking his head.

"Can't I stay with you?" he pleaded, green eyes glazed with his illness, red spots still burning on his cheeks.

"I'll sit by your bed, I'm not going to leave you," Snape promised. Harry's lip quivered but he allowed himself to be gathered up, blanket and all. He curved against his father's chest, drawing his knees up and shivering a little.

"I'm cold, daddy," he muttered. "My bones are sore and achy."

With a sigh Snape sat back in the chair and let the boy cuddle closer, cradling him like a baby against his chest. "I know, Harry," he said sympathetically. "But the medicine will help, I promise. When your fever's gone you'll stop shivering and your bones will stop aching."

"Promise?" Harry beseeched.

Throat tight Snape nodded, laying his cheek on soft tousled hair.

A little hand clenched at the front of his shirt and held on tightly, despite the feverish chills that wracked the slight form. The boy's blue lidded eyes were already closing, lashes fluttering as he breathed roughly, slight childish snores rattling from a chest filling with congestion.

Not wanting to disturb the child's fitful rest Snape made himself comfortable in the chair, summoning another blanket to cover them both with a quiet word and a wave of his wand. He settled in for a long night.

And a long night it seemed as the pale light of the moon crossed the floor in front of him, the diamond shapes of the thick old glass casting ghostly blue patterns on the worn carpet. Snape could only hold his son helplessly as the fever burned under his skin, cuddling him close but trying not to hurt him as Harry stirred feebly and moaned that his bones hurt. Of all the terrible nights he had lived through in his life this was the worse, as his child suffered and there was nothing he could do about it. He would gladly have taken all Harry's pain onto himself if he could, to spare this fragile little body its suffering.

In a life marked by loneliness Snape reflected that it was the loneliest he could ever recall feeling.

There had been a few times since Harry entered his life that he'd wished for someone he could turn to for advice and guidance. Someone who would reassure him that he wasn't making terrible mistakes in raising this damaged child. But now for the first time he truly longed for a partner or a mate. Someone who understood this dreadful worry that gripped him, someone to share this tender burden with.

By dawn there was no sign of a change and he decided it was time to take Harry back to the infirmary. He was climbing stiffly to his feet, Harry a light weight in his arms when all of a sudden the boy sighed and murmured and Snape felt the coolness from his skin almost instantly. The fever was breaking and acrid sweat was pouring off him, soaking through his nightshirt and dampening his brow.

Relief was like a breaking fever in Snape as he cradled Harry close and felt the new lassitude in his tense little limbs, his brow cool under his father's lips.

Outside the window a bird started singing as the sun began to rise.

888

The second nightgown of the night whizzed towards the hamper and Snape summoned a washcloth and quickly wiped the worst of the sweat from the sleeping boy before drawing another gown over his oblivious head and tucking him into his father's bed. With a sigh of pure exhaustion Snape lay down next to him, stretching out cramped legs and relaxing weary arms.

Harry was sleeping deeply but Snape didn't allow himself that luxury yet, the worry was still too close to the surface and for an hour or so he simply watched the child sleep, noting the easier exhalation of breath despite the traces of congestion still producing childish raspy snores. He laid his hand on Harry's cooling cheek, pleased to see the red flags gone and a more natural paleness to his skin.

Finally, when the lone bird had become a chorus at the window, Snape allowed himself to sleep.

888

Harry was shaking him awake and he came to groggily.

"I need to pee," Harry was mumbling. "But my legs are too tired."

Snape came awake long enough to grope under his bed for the old gazunder that resided there. He helped Harry to a sitting position on the side of the bed and it was a mark of how tired and ill the boy must still be feeling that he allowed his father to help him to pee without protest before turning back over and descending into snores again.

Taking a moment to settle his own nagging need Snape shoved the po back under the bed and let himself drift back into blissful slumber.

888

Guiltily aware that he should have been feeding Harry more liquids and brew Snape splashed water on his face and peered at the clock. The morning was gone and with a start he realised it was Sunday and Neville was due back this evening. He had better owl Mrs Longbottom and warn her to keep the boy home for a few days. Harry might still be contagious and wouldn't be up for any company for a while anyway.

He brewed some more willowfew and a pot of tea for himself, lifting the covers on their breakfast plates, house elf magic still keeping them warm despite the later hour. Even after only a few hours sleep Snape reflected that he felt surprisingly well rested and he sat and drank a cup of tea before tucking into bacon and eggs with a greater appetite than usual.

His eyes fell on the empty chair opposite and he realised that this was the first breakfast he'd eaten alone in months. Every morning in all that time he had eaten his modest breakfast, opened his mail and perused the newspaper to the constant chorus of Harry's chatter and cheerful conversation. And lately Neville's voice had begun chiming in more and more often, as the lad's confidence grew.

Snape chewed slowly, studying the neatly tucked in chairs and the spotless table cloth and the marmalade jar without a spot of butter in it. How many times had he rubbed his brow at breakfast and silently wished for a trifle more peace and quiet? Now he had his wish and instead of peace it felt as the silence of the room was ringing in his ears.

His paper arrived but he couldn't settle to reading it, Harry's medicine was cool anyway so he gently woke the boy and helped him to sit up against the pillows.

"Why am I in your bed, daddy?" he said groggily, wrapping shaking fingers around the warm mug.

"Drink up," Snape urged and the boy swallowed a mouthful, making a sour face.

"Yuck," he exclaimed, waking up a little and looking more alert. His eyes were clearer and his skin was only slightly flushed. His breathing was still a trifle laboured and Snape handed him a handkerchief.

"Blow," he ordered and Harry meekly complied.

"Am I sick?" he wondered.

"Don't you remember last night?"

Harry looked down into the cloudy contents of the mug and frowned. "Was Madam Pomfrey here?"

"We were in the infirmary," Snape began but Harry's mouth had turned down.

"I wet my bed," he recalled ashamedly.

His father patted the bony knee under the warm covers. "It wasn't your fault," he comforted. "You were poorly."

"Okay," Harry said, eyes drooping. He grimaced at the mug and held it out. "I don't want this."

"Drink a little more," his father urged. "It will make you feel better."

Harry looked doubtful but dutifully sipped, making horrific faces and shuddering as it was swallowed down.

"It's not that bad!" Snape exclaimed but Harry was sticking out his tongue, face still screwed up. "Drink some water to wash it down then."

The boy managed a few sips before a wide yawn split his face and Snape helped him snuggle back into the pillows, smoothing the covers over him gently.

"My head aches," Harry complained, eyes drifting shut.

"I know." Now Snape caressed Harry's long fingers where they clutched the covers to his chest. "You'll feel better soon." But the fingers were already relaxing under his touch and moments later the child was asleep.

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Dumbledore peeked into the chamber and smiled. "He doesn't look too bad," he murmured, turning back into the room. "And you look a little better yourself," he said shrewdly. "Despite your disturbed night."

Snape felt his cheeks colour. "I want to apologise again for yesterday," he said stiffly. "I overreacted."

Dumbledore waved his hand as if sweeping the issue aside. "I'm the one who should apologise," he said firmly. "Bringing up the Dursleys was insensitive of me."

"They are in the past," Snape dismissed. "And can no longer harm us, Harry and I."

"You think not?" Dumbledore asked thoughtfully. "In my experience the pain of the past can sometimes be worse than anything we suffer now, helpless as we are to change or cure it."

"Perhaps," Snape allowed. "But it is now we are living in."

"I only sought to ease your mind yesterday," the headmaster said carefully. "I understand how angry you are about what they did to Harry. I've felt no small measure of that myself," he confessed. "I suppose I hoped you'd realise that people like that, well, they often bring about their own destruction. Worrying that Harry would focus negative attention on them they brought about the very end they most feared."

Snape listened, frowning as he recalled that hateful house and the despised muggles foolishly entrusted with such a precious burden.

Dumbledore sighed. "The irony of course is if they had shown the least decency and kindness to the boy none of it need have happened."

"And you would never have sent me to him," Snape said, feeling hollow inside at the thought. He remembered all too well the brittle loneliness of those days before he had scooped Harry up and carried him away. The frightening loneliness of the night before was nothing in comparison. "If they had been kind to him," he wondered wretchedly. "Would it have been better for him to have never known me?"

"Do you mean better for you or for him?" Dumbledore murmured.

Snape winced. It was true the question had occurred to him before now. Lonely his life had been, but it had also been calm and unruffled, like the smooth surface of the nearby lake in summer. None of this turmoil, this worry or pain.

No feelings at all really.

"For Harry," he finally admitted. He didn't say aloud the honest answer he'd known in his heart for some time now. That of course he was better off for having his son in his life.

"Then my answer is no," Dumbledore said firmly. "Anyway," he said. "It's a moot point. They weren't kind to him and he had to be fetched. All we can do now is keep him as safe as we can and love him." He shrugged. "Much as we would for any child."

Snape stood restlessly and paced the room. "It's keeping him safe that worries me," he confessed roughly. "It's this that preys on my mind. They're out there, headmaster. Servants of their master no more, some perhaps as glad to see him gone as us but still so full of fear. Fear of his return, fear of discovery, fear of the foe that slew him when no one else could. Their eyes are on Harry now, their poisonous glances reach out to him." Rubbing his arms that seemed cold despite the warmth of the morning Snape looked towards the chamber where Harry lay sleeping. "I can feel them," he whispered.

The old wizard looked at him sympathetically. "No wonder you're not sleeping."

Snape snorted. "No wonder indeed," he agreed, scoffing at his own foolishness. "Who better than I know what they're capable of? It's only fair I suppose that I who walked side by side with them and was as guilty as they of so many crimes should feel this anxiety now. How many parents felt this dread and worry because of us? When I think back to those days and what I might have cost others, when I think on Harry now and how much he has come to mean to me, in my very blood and bone-" he broke off and turned, breathing hard, realising that once again he had revealed too much of himself to this man he still wasn't sure he entirely trusted.

Old lessons hadn't all sunk in it seemed. Give any part of yourself away and it can be used against you.

But Dumbledore was only gazing at him with rueful understanding in his eyes. "Yes," he agreed gently. "I suppose it is."

Now Snape was confused. He'd been expecting some maudlin speech from the sentimental old wizard, some sap filled homily on fatherhood and love and all that guff. Instead Dumbledore was looking more interested in Harry's untouched breakfast, lifting the lid and sniffing appreciatively.

"I say," he said hopefully. "This isn't going spare, is it? I haven't had time for breakfast yet."

So while Harry slept his father sat and drank tea with the headmaster and they talked about inconsequential things like lesson plans and the boggart in the staff room.

And Snape relaxed and found himself trusting Dumbledore a little more.

888

If Snape was left with any lingering sentimentality after Dumbledore's visit it was soon melted away by the reality of a cranky five year old who resented being confined to his bed. Harry insisted on visiting the lavatory himself and ended up being carried back to bed much to his disgust. He was hungry but whined about having soup for lunch, he was thirsty but didn't want pumpkin juice or water.

The crowning moment was when he realised Neville wasn't coming back that night as usual.

"Be sensible, Harry," Snape said, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking into a mutinous little face. "You don't want Neville getting sick, do you?"

"But I'm nearly better," Harry insisted, lifting his sleeve to his face and narrowly being intercepted by his father with a hanky. "I wasn't gonna wipe my nose on it," Harry said belligerently, snatching the hanky and rubbing at his face with it.

"Of course not," Snape sighed.

"And what about school tomorrow? Mr Lupin is reading us Tales of the Dragon Boy. I'm waiting and waiting for the end of the story!"

"You can wait another day or two. Now, it's time for another dose of medicine."

"No," Harry said mutinously, closing his mouth and turning his face away.

Biting back his impatience Snape held the mug out. "It will make you feel better," he coaxed through his teeth.

"It's yucky!" Harry burst out, pushing the mug away, slopping the warmed brew onto the covers.

"Harry Potter!" Snape bellowed, making the boy jump. "Stop acting like a baby and take your medicine right now!"

Harry's lips trembled and his slanted green eyes filled with tears. "You're mean and I hate you!" he yelled, turning over and burying his face in his pillow.

Jolted by the tears and the hoarse yell Snape drew back, feeling a flush of shame climbing up his cheeks. Harry's narrow back was shaking with sobs and his father carefully placed the mug of brew on the bedside table and climbed stiffly to his feet.

"Brilliant, Severus," he said to himself, collapsing back into his armchair in the sitting room and rubbing his face with his hands. "Absolutely brilliant. Yell at the sick little child why don't you? Prove once and for all beyond a shadow of a doubt that everything all those people are saying about you is true. You are a bad father."

He took a deep breath and then another, wondering how to apologise to a five year old for making him cry. What kind of words did you use anyway?

He started at the touch of a small hand on his knee and looked up to see Harry was standing next to him, mouth turned down, face wet.

"I don't hate you," he whispered and it turned out the words came pretty easily in the end.

"Sorry," he whispered into Harry's ear as he held him close.

"My head still hurts," Harry confessed into his neck, wiggling to get comfortable on his lap. "And my froat's sore."

"Throat," Snape corrected huskily. "I know you still feel poorly, Harry. That's why daddy wants you to take your medicine."

Harry nodded. "It tastes yucky," he grumbled. "But I'll drink it. Why can't you make cherry flavoured medicine like the chemist does?"

"I'll. er, look into it," Snape promised. "And you should be back in bed, young man."

"Can't I stay up with you?" Harry pleaded. "I'll drink all my medicine and the soup and everything."

Inclined to spoil the boy and mentally kicking himself for it Snape agreed. "But you're to sit right here under your blanket and not move," he warned and Harry nodded.

Snape fetched him his dressing gown and slippers and by the time he had him tucked in the big soft chair and dosed with more brew Harry's eyes were once again at half mast.

"Don't put me back to bed if I fall asleep, 'kay?" he murmured, snuggling back against the pillow.

"All right."

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That night Harry slept in his father's bed again, smiling in delight as he lay back against the pillows. "It's a big bed," he observed as his father wearily climbed in next to him. "I expect you get lonely in here on your own."

"How could I be lonely with you and Neville so close by?" his father murmured.

"I suppose." Harry yawned and knuckled his eyes. He shifted a little and leaned closer and whispered into his father's ear, despite the fact that they were all alone in their quarters. "Daddy?" he said softly. "Wake me up in the night, kay? I don't want to wet your bed."

"All right," Snape agreed, turning down the lights to a gentle glow. He felt Harry lay his hand on his arm and press his face to his shoulder. "Good night, Harry. Be sure and tell me if you feel bad again."

"I will," Harry promised sleepily. "Night."

And although he'd never been particularly lonely in the big bed Snape had to admit it was much cosier with the warm little weight cuddled up against him all night.

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The next morning Harry was a little better and his father let him sit back in the chair for lunch. The boy obediently drank his soup and sat back against his pillow with a sigh as Snape tugged away the tea towel serving as a body bib that was tucked around his neck.

"Being sick is boring," the boy commented. "I'm sleepy and I haven't done anything!"

"It does seem rather a waste of a day off," his father agreed, sitting back and finishing his own soup and toast. He'd pulled his chair up beside Harry and they were using the coffee table for their plates and cups. That morning he'd cancelled his first days solo teaching and received a acerbic little note from Madam Bright saying she quite understood.

"Will I be better tomorrow?"

Snape cupped Harry's cheek and nodded. "You're much cooler," he reported. "But I'm afraid those sniffles aren't going anywhere any time soon."

"Can I read a book?"

Harry had a few books by his bed, mostly borrowed from Mrs Weasley who regularly sent her owl with parcels of Ronnie's books for Harry to read. Most were old and had obviously been well used by the Weasley tribe, especially two bold scribblers named Fred and George who had apparently felt the need to sign their name to almost every tome.

"For a little while," Snape allowed, fetching the pile of books and one of his own from his room. They read for a while in silence, Harry yawning occasionally and rubbing weary eyes.

There was a knock on the door and Snape raised a brow at the sight of Harry's tutor smiling cheerfully at him.

"I thought since I'd been given a day off anyway I might come and see how Harry is."

"Mr Lupin!" Harry called from the chair. He pushed his blanket down but quickly pulled it back up again when he caught his father's eye. "Did you bring Tales of the Dragon Boy?"

"Now, Harry," Lupin said with a grin, slipping past Snape at the door and loping over. "It wouldn't be fair to Neville to continue the story without him."

Harry looked as if he wouldn't find it a problem but he agreed half heartedly.

"I did bring some cards." Lupin pulled a pack from his pocket. He cast Snape a teasing glance to where he was still standing by the open door. "I thought you might want a break for an hour or so, Severus."

Snape reluctantly closed the door. "I'm fine," he said curtly.

"A walk might do you good," Lupin coaxed. He pulled a chair closer and began shuffling cards. "Shall I teach you a game, Harry?"

"Okay," Harry said with interest.

Not wanting to stay any closer to Lupin than necessary but still feeling disinclined to abandon Harry while he was unwell, Snape hesitated for a moment.

"I do need to mix some more of the willowfew tea," he said reluctantly.

Harry made a gruesome face and Lupin chuckled.

"Go then," he advised. "Harry and I will be just fine."

Harry watched with fascination as Lupin shuffled the cards and Snape made up his mind. The willow bark and feverfew combination was a simple one to assemble, he could be back in half an hour and by then Harry would probably be ready for another nap anyway.

As he ground the dried leaves to a fine powder down in his lab Snape considered the relatively safe ingredients of the medicine thoughtfully. He hadn't forgotten Harry's fascination with the art of potion making, and he'd been thinking a small gift for the boy would cheer him up over the next few days while he made what looked to be a frustrating recovery.

He glanced at the clock on the wall and made his decision, then scanned the bountiful contents of his store cupboard with a knowledgeable eye. He nodded. Yes, it could be done.

An hour later he quietly entered his quarters to find Lupin sitting in Snape's own armchair thumbing through his book. Harry was fast asleep in his chair, snoring gently with the remains of something chocolate around his mouth.

"It was just pudding," Lupin said hastily. "Your house elf brought it for him as a treat."

Snape tucked the wooden box he was carrying behind the door and held it open wide.

"Nice of you to drop by," he said politely.

Lupin closed the book and laid it on the coffee table.

"It doesn't have to be this way you know," he murmured, heaving himself to his feet. "We don't have to be enemies any more."

"We never did," Snape couldn't resist reminding him as he passed by.

Lupin paused and slanted him a wry look. "Are you ever going to put the past behind you?"

"Are you ever going to put my door behind you?" Snape glanced pointedly to the open doorway and with a sigh Lupin took the hint and left.

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Snape laid the polished wooden box on the table and stepped back to admire it. Then he moved it to the coffee table so it would be the first thing Harry saw when he awoke. Then he changed his mind and put it on the mantelpiece to keep it safe. He glanced at the sleeping boy impatiently. Was Harry going to sleep the rest of the day away?

It was close to tea time by the time the little boy stirred awake and let his father help him into the bathroom. Snape then helped him wash his hands and face to freshen him up and Harry rubbed his face with a soft towel and emerged with a smile.

"I feel a bit better," he declared happily and Snape laid a hand on his head.

"You look better too. Come sit back down, Harry. I, er, I have a present for you."

Harry gazed at him in surprise. "A present? Is it my birthday then?"

Snape ruffled his hair and pushed him gently back in the direction of the sitting room. "No, it's not your birthday, I'll tell you in plenty of time for that. And remember you and Neville have the same birthday, so even if we forgot he wouldn't."

"Oh, yeah."

Snape waited until Harry was ensconced back in his chair before he pulled the polished box off the mantel and laid it on his lap.

"Harry Potter," Harry read, tracing a long finger over the gold lettering etched on the top. "My name."

Snape undid the silver clasps and lifted the lid, revealing little wooden compartments with cork stoppered bottles in each. Harry lifted one out and stared in wonder at the green liquid that swirled thickly inside.

"Potions?" Harry asked curiously.

"Potion ingredients," Snape said a little nervously, wondering if this had been a good idea after all. "And here, a little mortar and pestle." He pulled out the small stone instruments. "And scales and a cauldron. Although you won't heat anything without me there, understand?"

Harry nodded slowly. "Is this for me then? To be a potion maker like you?"

"If you want," Snape said carelessly but Harry was already nodding vigorously.

"I do," he said eagerly. He lifted out another bottle, this one contained little dried seeds shaped like stars. "Will you show me how to make a potion, daddy?"

Snape indicated a thin book strapped to the inside lid. "I thought we might sit and write one out together," he suggested. "You can practice your writing while you're recovering and by the time your book's filled you'll know a dozen different potions."

"And will you show me the magic too?"

Snape nodded. "Simple magic," he told him. "Natural magic, which is the best type for making potions." He didn't have to ask if Harry liked it, little fingers were exploring the bottles and stroking the shiny brass weights of the tiny scales with obvious pleasure.

Finally the boy looked up and smiled, green eyes shining. "Thank you, daddy."

"You're welcome."

Snape sat back down with his book, watching from the corner of his eye as Harry investigated the box, pulling the thin book free and flicking through the thick parchment pages. Then he closed the lid and once again traced wondering fingers over the fancy letters spelling his name on the lid.

"Daddy?" he said curiously.

"Hm?"

"Why have we got different names?"

Snape frowned at him. "You mean last names?"

Harry nodded. "I'm Harry Potter," he expanded, indicating the box. "But the children call you Professor Snape. How come I'm not Harry Snape?"

Snape carefully laid his book on his lap. "I thought we'd talked abut this? Your mother was married to James Potter. Her name was Lily Potter. So you are Harry Potter."

Harry frowned, obviously thinking it through. "But why?"

Snape hesitated. "It's complicated, Harry," he prevaricated. "When you're older -"

"I'm older now," Harry objected. He looked down at the name in front of him, long finger idly tracing the curly letter P. "Why were they my mum and dad if you're my real dad?"

With a sigh Snape resigned himself to the inevitable and tried to frame some answers in his head. "James Potter was my cousin," he began. "Do you know what that means?"

Harry shook his head.

"It just means we were related. Lots of wizard families are. And James Potter and Lily wanted to have a child, a boy of their own." Snape hesitated but Harry's gaze was fixed on him intently. "And Potter couldn't give Lily one."

"Why?" Harry asked inevitably.

"He just couldn't. Er, some wizards can't. Anyway, they asked me if I'd help them. So I did," he finished lamely, hoping this would be enough to satisfy the boy's curiousity.

A vain hope as it happened.

"Babies grow in their mummy's tummy's," Harry said knowledgeably. "But I never did know how they got there. Did you put me in my mum's tummy then?"

"No," Snape said firmly. "Potter did. Because I gave you to him. Do you understand?"

"But didn't you want me for yourself?" Harry asked earnestly.

"You weren't you then, Harry," Snape desperately tried to explain. "You were just the part of me that would help Lily make you. It's like magic!" he said suddenly.

"Oh," Harry exclaimed, lifting the lid of his box again and gazing down at the ingredients. "Magic!"

"Yes," Snape nodded quickly. And it was true after all, magic had delivered his seed to Potter, the donation his only part of the conception.

Harry was still frowning a little as he digested it. "Is he my dad too then?" he asked in a small voice. "Cos I heard a lady in the infirmary tell Madam Pomfrey that I was the spit and image of James Potter. But how can I be if I'm your boy?"

Snape leaned over and took the restlessly tracing hand, stilling the long fingers gently. "Magic helped make you, Harry," he said gently. "And there's no doubt some part of him went into you as well. He loved you," Snape was able to admit. "So that's only fair. But you are my boy, and I can show you some more proof if you need it. Look." And he opened his long fingered hand wide and laid Harry's little hand against it.

And with dawning delight Harry turned their joined hands this way and that, looking at the long slender fingers and the oval nails and the shape of their knuckles and thumbs.

"We have the same hands," Snape murmured.

Harry's eyes were full of wonder as they turned to his. "I have bits of all of you in me, don't I, daddy?"

"Yes," Snape said firmly. And after all, he could afford to be generous. Some parts of the past couldn't hurt, and they were gone and no threat to him now.

Harry was his.

"And every bit of you was made with love," he finished firmly, and maybe that hadn't always been true but it was now, and now was where they were living.

"Will I always be Harry Potter then?" Harry wondered.

"I think it's fair." Snape laid the small hand back on his box and touched a button nose, not yet resembling anyone's in particular. "So you never forget that they loved you even before I did. And after all, what do names matter?"

"They don't matter at all," Harry declared. "But make sure everyone knows you're my dad, okay? I don't think they all know it yet."

"We'd better make sure they do then," Snape agreed.


	7. Chapter 7

Snape sipped his tea and sat back in his chair with a sigh, contemplating the thought of the second year class he'd be taking after lunch for double potions. It ought to be good for a laugh, if nothing else. He looked up and frowned as Harry stomped into the room.

"Harry, get your robes on, you're going to be late back to school."

"I'm not wearing my robes," the five year old said crossly. "It's too hot."

"Well I'll perform a cooling charm on you," Snape offered. "If you wipe that scowl off your face."

Harry scowled harder. "The cooling charm wears off too soon," he grumbled. "And the robes get in the way when I run."

"Nevertheless," Snape began, holding onto his patience.

Harry crossed his thin arms and looked mutinous.

"Why don't you take off the muggle clothes and simply wear your drawers under your robe?"

The boy looked horrified. "Then it'd be like I was wearing a dress!"

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose as his ire rose.

"Why can't I wear normal clothes?"

"You are a wizard, Harry, robes are normal. And they are not dresses," he managed. But the boy's brow was still lowered mutinously and his lower lip protruded.

"Why don't we try this then?" Snape said, patience worn thin. "Go and put your robes on or I'll tell Mr Lupin you're not to play any sports this afternoon. How does that sound?"

Harry's chin trembled and his eyes filled with tears, but his father could easily tell they were tears of temper and so he was unmoved.

"Fine!" Harry exclaimed, tossing his hands theatrically. "I'll just cook then!" And he stamped back into his bedroom, kicking the door jamb on the way.

Reflecting that second year students who routinely blew up their cauldrons would be a doddle after this, Snape glanced at Neville who was watching the scene with wide eyes. When he caught Snape's eyes on him he quickly buried his face in his glass of juice and sipped loudly.

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True to form the second years didn't let him down and after an enjoyable afternoon of sneering at failed potions and handing out detentions Snape felt considerably cheerier. Madam Bright seemed invigorated just by observing and they exchanged an almost pleasant five minutes making sarcastic remarks about the particularly dunderheaded students in the bunch.

It was therefore somewhat disheartening to find Harry sitting in the corner of his classroom with that sulky lower lip once again protruding.

"I'm afraid Harry's had something of a bad afternoon," Lupin said delicately. Neville was sitting behind his desk with his chin on his hands and looking thoroughly miserable. "I was forced to cancel sports," the tutor continued.

"It's a shame Neville had to miss out as well," Snape said meaningfully and Harry frowned even harder.

"Neville rather sealed his own fate when he joined in the mutiny," Lupin revealed and Snape turned an astonished gaze on Neville who sunk even lower in his seat.

"I'm sorry you had a wasted afternoon, Mr Lupin," Snape said, eyeing his two charges balefully. "I'll make sure you receive a pair of apologies tomorrow." He stood back and gestured at the doorway. "Downstairs, boys and quick-smart." Neville stood up and Harry began to drag himself from his stool.

"Now!" Snape barked and both boys jumped and scurried for the door.

Back in their quarters Snape stood with his back to the door and surveyed the two boys sternly.

"Anyone care to tell me what that was all about?"

Neville slanted Harry a quick glance but they both stayed silent.

"Fine," Snape bit out. "Both of you go to your rooms. There will be no playing and no dessert with supper."

Harry scowled but still said nothing. Neville only hung his head.

"And after supper you will both write Mr Lupin a letter of apology. Understand?"

Neville nodded but Harry only turned and fled to his room, slamming the seldom closed door behind him. Neville hung his head again and tramped like a condemned prisoner to his own room.

Left on his own Snape frowned and paced to the kitchen for a much needed cup of tea. Whatever had got into the boys? Neville he could understand, he followed Harry into all things, apparently even into trouble.

But Harry's behaviour was more mysterious. Perhaps he was sickening for something again?

Supper arrived and he carried a plate to Neville and laid it on his small play table. The boy was sitting with his pad in front of him, a neatly written letter on display.

_Dear Mr Lupin I am sorry I was norty and said that the sums were dum. I'm sorry I made crosst eyes at you to from Neville Longbottom, wizard._

"Very good," Snape praised.

He hesitated outside Harry's room, but the boy was still not speaking, he sat on his bed, doll under his chin, his back firmly to the door.

"Have you written your apology yet?"

"Not gonna write any dumb old 'pology," Harry muttered.

Snape sighed and laid the tray on the bedside table. "Did you really say that mathematics was dumb?"

"Yes!" Harry said aggressively. "And why should we learn sums anyway? Wizard's shouldn't have to learn dumb old sums."

"It's not for little children to decide what they will or won't learn," Snape said severely. "I'm thoroughly disaffected with you, Harry. It's not bad enough that you get yourself into trouble with your bad temper, but to lead Neville astray too-"

"It's dumb Neville's fault!" Harry yelled, spinning on the bed and facing his father. "You're my daddy, not his! You should be taking me out, not him!"

Nonplussed Snape stared for a few moments. Then realisation dawned.

"This is because I'm taking Neville to visit his parents in the hospital?" he said incredulously. "That's what this song and dance is about?"

"I'm your boy, not him," Harry said angrily. "You've never taken me anywhere, and we've been here years and years!" He gestured sweepingly to indicate the huge length of time he had been at Hogwarts and Snape snorted and shook his head.

"We've been here just a few months, Harry. And they've been very busy months-"

"But you're not too busy to take Neville out," Harry accused, tears in his eyes again. And not just tears of anger this time, Snape noted.

The older wizard shook his head. "This is hardly a pleasure trip Neville and I are going on. His grandmother has hurt her hip and doesn't want Neville to miss his mother's birthday. Surely you can understand that."

But Harry had his face turned away again, burying it in his doll's velvet cap.

Snape stood up. "I am very disappointed in you, Harry. If you want to spend your evening sulking, then by all means do so. But eat your supper and wash up before bedtime."

888

Later that evening Snape went to Neville's room to collect his plate. As was his habit he stood by the boy's bed to wish him good night and tuck him in.

"I'm sorry I was naughty," Neville said miserably. "Harry's mad at me."

Snape sighed and sat down. "Harry's jealous," he told the small boy honestly. "He'll get over it. I'm more concerned with your behaviour today, Neville." He smoothed a hand over the bed covers thoughtfully. "It won't do, you know, to follow Harry into trouble every time he's in the mood for it. In fact, Neville, I was rather counting on you to be a good example to him at such times."

Neville looked astonished. "Me?"

"Yes. You know that Harry was raised by muggles, so he doesn't always know the correct way to act in the wizarding world."

"Like his table manners," Neville said knowingly and Snape nodded.

"Just so. But his manners are much better since he began to copy you."

"Harry copies me?" Neville asked, looking amazed again.

"Hadn't you noticed?"

Neville shook his head in wonder.

"Well he does. And I was hoping some of your other behaviour would rub off as well. I'm not saying it's your job to keep Harry on the straight and narrow." Snape rolled his eyes. "I have the feeling it might take a team of us to do that. But it would help if you didn't allow yourself to be led into bad behaviour just because you care about him."

Neville turned it over in his mind. "I'll try," he said at last and Snape nodded.

"Good."

"Mr Snape?" Neville said. He was tracing the embroidery on his covers, one little finger circling a bright green rose. "If it makes Harry mad maybe I shouldn't ought to visit my parents on Saturday?"

Snape felt a pang of pity for the boy, remembering his instinctive reaction to Mrs Longbottom's request to take the boy visiting his parents in the hospital. He had actually been quite horrified to learn the child had been visiting them for years.

As Snape did with most things these days he measured this against his own life with Harry and found himself quite adamant on the subject. If he had been in Neville's parents place, and he might very well have ended up in such straits, he would not have wanted Harry to visit him. Not just for the boy's sake either, he was selfish enough to revile the idea of his boy seeing him in such a condition.

"It's your mother's birthday," he said helplessly. "And your grandmother's wish that you visit."

Neville just shrugged, eyes still on his finger tracing the rose around and around.

Snape covered that restless hand briefly, squeezing the fingers before standing up. "We won't stay long," he promised, vowing to break one of his own rules and speak with Mrs Longbottom about the raising of the child. After all, he spent more time with Neville than she did these days. Her decisions, especially the stupid ones, effected him as well.

Next it was to Harry's room and Snape was gratified to see the supper tray had been licked clean. His own father would have sent him to bed without any supper but Harry had had too much of that kind of punishment already. He was healthy enough these days that a missed meal wouldn't damage his body, but Snape wasn't sure what it might to do to his peace of mind.

He cast a glance at Harry's bottom drawer where an unopened box of Honeyduke's biscuits still resided. Harry didn't hoard his food any more and he didn't creep from his bed in the night to seek the comfort of the wardrobe or Neville's bed. But he didn't need any reminders of those bad times either.

Harry was laying back under the covers, face shining from his evening wash, doll tucked under his chin. He looked deceptively virtuous as he blinked sleepily up at his father with those almond shaped eyes.

"Finished your sulk yet?" Snape wondered, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Harry's chin quivered. "Can't I go with you?" he beseeched.

"Even if that were possible I'd be unlikely to reward you for your bad behaviour today, would I?" his father said sternly.

Lip's quivering now Harry nodded. "I was naughty," he admitted and Snape softened, reflecting that if he wasn't careful this child would twist him around his little finger.

"You were," he returned, maintaining his severe face. "You can make up for it by apologising to your tutor tomorrow, and being nicer to Neville. You've made him quite miserable, you know, with your attitude."

Two big fat tears rolled down the side of Harry's face into his snowy white pillow. "'kay," he whispered.

"And if you do behave yourself for the rest of this week I will take you both to the village on Sunday. How does that sound?"

Harry sniffed and rubbed his face on his doll. "Really?" he said cautiously.

"If you're very good," Snape reminded him. "And that includes not making a fuss when I take Neville to the hospital on Saturday. Understand?"

Harry nodded meekly. "Yes, daddy," he whispered.

Snape made to stand and then hesitated. Since the day Neville had arrived and Harry had asked him for a kiss goodnight he had kissed the boy's forehead after tucking him in every night without fail. He was still slightly out of temper with the child, not least because he was unsure if he had made the right decision in not punishing him further for his behaviour today. But he didn't want Harry to think that his father's affections would be withheld if he misbehaved.

Snape remembered all too well how that felt.

So he leaned forward to bestow a brusque peck to Harry's forehead.

Before he could straighten though, skinny little arms circled his neck and Harry's damp cheek pressed against his own for a moment. The boy was crying again.

Snape patted his shoulder awkwardly. "Well," he said gruffly. "No need to carry on so. It's all over, isn't it?"

Harry nodded and sniffed again, subsiding back on his pillow and knuckling his eyes.

Snape let him settle back and conjured a hanky to wipe the boy's eyes. "There are other people in our lives, Harry," he said softly, smoothing the soft lawn over damp cheeks. "And we're glad to have them there, aren't we?"

Harry nodded.

"But we're each other's family, you and I, right? Just the two of us?"

And Harry nodded again, his lips turning up in the tiniest smile.

"Well then." Snape stood and extinguished the light, setting the night light aglow in their evening ritual. "Good night."

"Night, daddy."

888

True to his promise Harry's behaviour was back to normal the next day and Snape breathed a sigh of relief. After those initial stirrings of possessiveness when Neville first arrived Harry had settled in quite nicely to sharing his new father. He even seemed to enjoy having someone to compete against for praise. The incident yesterday had been the first time Harry had really shown his jealousy, although upon reflection Snape thought he should have expected it. The trip to London with Neville must seem like quite a big deal to such a small child.

By Saturday morning Harry was clearly unhappy again, but he didn't lose his temper when Mr Lupin dropped by to pick him up.

"I appreciate you giving up your morning to take care of Harry," Snape told the tutor stiffly. Harry was leaning against his father's leg, Merlin clutched to his chest.

"Not at all." Lupin smiled kindly at the little boy's sullen face. "I'm sure we'll have a fine time. I though Harry might like to visit Hagrid."

Harry's interest perked up. "The giant?" he said uncertainly.

Lupin smiled. "The groundskeeper," he clarified.

Harry let go his father's leg and took a step closer. "With the puppy dog?"

"That's the one."

Harry cast one more reluctant glance at his father and then trotted over to his tutor's side.

"Okay," he agreed. Then he glanced up and met Lupin's eye. "I mean, all right," he corrected. Then his dark mood seemed to break and he smiled his old smile. "I've wanted to meet him for ages and ages," he revealed shyly. "But daddy says he's much too busy to bother."

"I also mentioned his habit of keeping rather dangerous pets," Snape expanded, glaring at Lupin. There was no way he could possibly withdraw the treat now but he would certainly have a few sharp words to say to the tutor later on. He had deliberately kept the boys away from the rather dubious influence of Hogwarts infamous groundskeeper. "Mind your manners. Harry," Snape warned his son. "Be a good boy."

"I will," Harry said sunnily. "Don't forget we're going to the village tomorrow, though, all right?"

"I won't."

888

They flooed to Diagon Alley and then walked to the muggle subway from there. Neville was still subdued and he merely walked along quietly by Snape's side as they boarded the train.

Muggles around them stared curiously and Snape met their impertinent glances with a glare, causing some of them to pale and look quickly away. Glancing down at himself Snape had to wonder what had drawn their attention. In deference to the weather he had eschewed his robes and cloak and was wearing a simple black velvet suit with silver embroidered buttons. Neville was appropriately dressed for a child of his age in pumpkin knickerbockers and long white stockings, with a dark green embroidered waistcoat and long sleeved lawn shirt beneath it. Even his black buckled shoes were nicely shined.

Shrugging away the curious propensities of muggles Snape sat back to endure the ride, holding out an automatic hand to the boy as the ridiculous mode of transportation jerked to a halt at every stop.

By the time they arrived at their station the crowds were thicker and Snape lifted Neville up and perched him on his hip to disembark the train. The boy stiffened and clutched his shoulders and Snape redoubled his firm hold.

"It's very high up here," Neville said nervously as they pushed through the crowds on the platform. He leaned closer, hands holding tightly. "No one's ever carried me before," he revealed.

"We must have chosen a bad time of day," Snape said, patting his back absently. "If you were to walk you'd probably be crushed."

"I don't mind," Neville assured him quickly. He looked around and his round face creased in his first smile all day. "I like it."

The small hands relaxed on his shoulders and Snape relaxed a little himself. He hadn't realised how Neville's dread at the upcoming visit had been effecting him until this moment.

He had his own burden of uncertainty about Frank and Alice Longbottom.

Outside the hospital ward Neville hesitated and Snape made up his mind.

"It's all right if you don't want to go in," he told the child. "I'll talk to your grandmother about it."

Neville looked tempted for a moment, biting his lower lip nervously. Then his shoulders slumped. "Gran says they look forward to seeing me," he explained sadly. "So I better not disappoint them."

Snape seated himself in the corner of the little closed in section of the ward, picking up a crudely framed photograph where a picture of Neville waved out at him. Two adults were sitting by the window, looking out at the occasional cloud floating by in the bright blue sky. They didn't even look up as Neville greeted them. With a sigh the child climbed up on a chair next to his mother and began to talk; he was obviously used to this.

Watching the small child interact with his unresponsive parents Snape reflected on a few things. Sometimes he felt like he'd learned a lifetime's worth of lessons from his son in the months they'd spent together, all of them positive. Now for the first time he was realising he'd learned a few lessons from undemanding little Neville as well.

Patience firstly. Snapping at Neville was only effective if your ultimate goal was broken crockery and accusing looks from Harry.

And now this new lesson. That sometimes courage came in the most unusual packages. Like small round faced boys with nervous eyes.

As they finally bade the unresponsive Longbottoms farewell, Neville reached out one small hand and laid it over his mother's lax one, in her lap. For a moment there was no response, Alice continued staring out the window at the bright blue sky. Then her shoulders twitched and she looked down at her lap, before lifting her free hand and awkwardly patting her son's.

888

Neville was smiling as he exited the hospital, and Snape took a great breath of fresh air. He'd never been so glad to leave a place before in his life.

"Gran was right!" Neville said happily. "She was glad to see me! Did you see?"

Snape laid a hand on Neville's silky head. "I saw."

888

"We're going to Hogsmeade!" Harry sang at breakfast and Neville joined in.

"We're going to Honeyduke's!"

"There's more to Hogsmeade than just a sweet shop, boys," Snape lectured. He found himself facing two uncomprehending stares.

"It's not just a sweet shop, daddy," Harry explained patiently. "It's the best sweet shop in the whole world! My friend Hagrid told me all about it!"

"I wish I could meet Hagrid," Neville said enviously and Harry preened.

"He said he knew me when I was a little baby," Harry said for the tenth time. "And he took me for a ride on a flying motorbike." He sighed sadly. "He doesn't have it any more though, he told me."

Neville looked uncertain. "I don't think I'd like a flying motor bike," he confessed. "It would go too high."

"I can't wait to go high!" Harry bubbled excitedly. He zoomed his spoon around the table, dripping milk all over the once pristine cloth. "I can't wait 'til I can fly a broom and zoom everywhere!"

"You'll be zooming straight back to bed if you don't sit back and eat your breakfast!" his father exclaimed and Harry popped the spoon into his mouth and sat back.

"Maybe Mr Lupin will take us to see Hagrid?" Neville said timidly into the silence.

Harry cast his father a look. "Maybe," he said more sedately. "He did say Hagrid has interesting animals we should know about."

"And did you see any?" Snape asked silkily, reminding himself to have words with Lupin on the subject as soon as possible.

"Just his puppy dog." Harry giggled, wrinkling his nose. "He's an awfully licky dog, and his breath stinks!"

"To save yourself from the same fate, finish your breakfast and brush your teeth," his father ordered. "It's almost time to go."

"Yay!" Harry and Neville cheered.

888

On the outskirts of the school Snape crouched and faced his two squarely. "Now, remember what I said, boys. You hold each other's hands and you do not let go. You stay by my side at all times. Wander, even just a little, and we turn around and come home. Understood?"

"Yes, daddy."

"Yes, sir."

Snape reached into his coat and pulled out two huge galleons. Two pairs of eyes lit up.

"One each," he said, pressing them into little hands. "But, mind! They're not to be spent all at once, and not all on sweets!"

The boys clutched their coins and immediately reached out and grabbed each other's hands.

"We'll be good," Harry vowed and Neville nodded vigourously.

One hand in his pocket around his wand and both eyes on his charges Snape led them down the path to the village of Hogsmeade.

"That's where I got my cape," Harry said excitedly, pointing at the Gladrags store.

"Look, Harry!" Neville exclaimed. "Horsies!"

"And horsie poo!" Harry returned, snickering coarsely. "It's huge and stinky!"

"And not something to chatter about," Snape said long sufferingly. But Harry was already off on another subject and Snape could only roll his eyes and let himself be carried along on a wave of enthusiasm.

888

His feet ached from walking, his shoulders ached from tension and his ears were protesting hours of excited chatter and squeals. Never so glad to sit down in his life Snape enjoyed a well earned butter beer while the boys spread their purchases over the table and compared treats.

Harry was wearing a hat he had purchased from the joke shop, every minute or so it changed dramatically, and at the moment it was shaped like a pirate hat, jaunty white feather and all. With a quiet pop it became a feathered confection with a stuffed bluebird soaring majestically in its centre.

Snape hoped the charm wore off quickly.

Neville had made an altogether more sensible purchase of a paint set with a dozen or so jars of bright colours. Since he had very nearly decided on a shrill tin whistle that loudly replayed every tune played on it, Snape thought he had made an excellent choice.

"Move your things, boys, lunch is arriving."

Harry swept his sweets back into his bag and smiled happily at Madam Rosmerta as she laid a steaming bowl of soup and a crusty bun in front of him.

"Looks like two young fellows have had a busy day," she said, patting Harry's tousled head and winking at Neville.

"An expensive one at any rate," Snape said sourly and she wrinkled her nose and grimaced prettily at him. "Two sweet lads like these deserve spoiling." She patted Harry's head again then stopped abruptly and drew back her hand. "Oh, my," she breathed. "It's little Harry Potter!"

Snape stiffened and looked around the room but the noise level was high and no one appeared to have overheard.

"I'd appreciate if you didn't broadcast that all over the town," Snape snapped and Rosmerta looked startled.

"But little Harry Potter!" she enthused more quietly. "The boy who lived!"

Harry was looking confused and Snape stood and loomed over her, grasping her arm and pulling her a few steps away from the table.

"The very young boy who lived," he snarled into her wide eyes. "Who doesn't need and won't understand the attentions of a bunch of gaping strangers."

"All right," Rosmerta huffed, pulling her arm free and rubbing it. "I was just excited is all. I don't want to scare the lad."

Snape schooled his face. "I apologise for grabbing you," he said stiffly. "But-"

Rosmerta held up her hand and he broke off. "It's all right," she said with a rueful half smile. "I understand. You're just looking out for him." She slanted Harry a curious glance and smiled at him.

Seeing the worry in the child's eyes Snape nodded and Harry relaxed and began to eat his soup.

"He's so little," she said quietly. "Course you want to protect him."

Unsure how to respond to such sentiments Snape contented himself with another nod.

"You go back to your lunch, dearie," Rosmerta urged, patting him on his arm.

Snape watched her click away on her high heels and sat back in his seat.

"She's pretty," Neville observed.

"She knows my name," Harry said curiously. "And she was looking at my scar like the big kids at home do."

Neville considered Harry's forehead as he spooned his soup.

"It is very cool," he observed, then grinned proudly at using one of the words Harry had taught him.

Harry grinned back.

888

The boys little legs were dragging by the time they reached the beech tree, so Snape conjured a blanket and they all sank down on it gladly. Another quick spell and a house elf appeared with a jug of iced pumpkin juice and they enjoyed a glassful while they sat in the shade and watched the gentle breeze ruffle the calm blue waters of the lake. Students were about, some resting like themselves, other hardier souls playing one sort of game or another. Their cries were like distant background music as Snape leaned back against the trunk of the tree and relaxed.

Neville was already on his back, snoring, and Harry, his mouth sticky from the treats he'd indulged in on the walk home, had flopped onto his side.

"No napping, daddy, okay?" he appealed, then instantly fell asleep.

Resisting the urge himself Snape tilted his head back and studied the clear sky, eyes half closing at the pleasures of the afternoon.

When was the last time he'd sat under a tree and just gazed at the sky? Had he ever?

His mind drifted back over the day. Although the village near the school enjoyed its own share of protections there was no doubt Harry had been vulnerable there. Rosmerta had surely not been the only one to notice Harry's scar and recognise the famous child.

But he couldn't keep the boy cooped up forever, occasionally such risks had to be taken.

Snape wondered to himself just how serious the threat to Harry might be. Without the Dark Lord around did his followers really have any interest in stirring up trouble for themselves? Fanatics like the LeStranges had shown their hands quickly after the day their master disappeared and were rotting in Azkaban. And what did that leave? Wizards like Malfoy, who had spent all his time and influence back then protecting his own narrow white arse?

He shivered at the thought of that pale pointed face sneeringly asking about Harry. Maybe there was a threat there, even if it was just the general malice of evil.

Neville snored and snuffled in his sleep and Snape glanced back down at his charges, letting the peace of the day wash over him once more. He wouldn't worry about the evil out there, not on such a fine day, and not for as many days as he could manage. For now he would do something else he couldn't ever remember doing before.

Just enjoy himself.


	8. Chapter 8

Snape settled Harry on a stool, surveyed him thoughtfully and pulled out his wand.

"Hold tight, Harry."

With a wave the stool grew a few more inches while Harry held the sides and chuckled merrily.

"More! More!" he shouted, but his father stowed his wand back in his pocket and shook his head.

"Remember what I said about staying calm?"

Harry sobered and straightened his little face, a frown knitting his own smooth brow. He sat up and squared his shoulders.

"I'm calm, daddy," he pronounced firmly.

"Endeavour to stay that way. The brewing of potions requires a steady hand and a composed manner at all times. Take a breath."

Avidly studying his father's face Harry took a breath as his father did.

"Hold it for a moment. Now, breath out."

Cheeks round Harry obediently blew out the breath.

"Every time you feel yourself getting too worked up just breath deeply." Snape studied the boy's intensely serious face with proud amusement. "Good boy."

"What are we going to brew, daddy?" Harry asked eagerly, leaning forward a little and studying the potions Snape had laid out. "There are all my ingredients," he said happily, gesturing at the small bottles from his potion kit.

"Madam Pomfrey has asked for a cure for sunburn, Harry. The students are enjoying their last days of term in the sun and some of them have overdone it."

Harry looked at him curiously. "That doesn't sound very magical," he complained.

Snape raised a brow. "Healing someone's pain is the greatest magic there is, Harry. Easing suffering, improving someone's life. Flashy arts that change the shapes and colours of things might seem impressive, but they are just meaningless glitter in the end. The true substance of a brewer's art is to aid mankind."

Harry bit his lip as he struggled to follow his father's words. "So we help people, daddy?"

"That is our true goal." Snape wondered how much Harry truly understood as he studied the small boy's thoughtful face. "Of course the flashy arts can be quite fun too."

"Fun?" Harry looked startled and Snape felt a flash of irritation. Didn't Harry think his father capable of fun?

"Yes, fun," Snape said shortly. "Now, find the star baris, Harry. Can see it there?"

Harry tentatively reached for the bottle full of tiny dried pods shaped liked stars. "This one?"

"That's it. Count out six."

Tongue at the corner of his mouth Harry counted the half dozen. The pods rustled delicately as he shook them out.

"Good. Now, your mortar and pestle."

Harry enthusiastically reached for the fine marble tools. "I've been wanting to smush things with this for ages!"

Snape snorted at his irrepressible son. "The word is grind, Harry. To powder in this case. Start with one at a time. That's it."

Harry ground the small pestle firmly and the pod cracked with a satisfying crunch.

"Try a circular movement." Snape covered Harry's hands carefully with his own and demonstrated. "See?"

"I'm doing it!" Harry exclaimed. He lifted the pestle out and surveyed the contents. "Smushed," he pronounced with great satisfaction.

"Thoroughly," his father agreed dryly. "Now add another until they are all a fine powder."

Harry diligently ground pod after pod. By the last one his hands were growing tired and Snape covered them again with his own larger ones and helped him finish.

"This is hard work!"

He blew a strand of hair off of his brow, but there was a happy glow in his eyes and his cheeks were flushed and creased in a smile. "What next?"

Snape guided him through the next steps, the bitterly fragrant salamander oil, the highly prized orchid wax, the careful stirring and blending.

"Now, weigh up the puffin powder," Snape said, pulling the small scales closer.

"We've done weights and measures in school," Harry informed him. He picked up a tiny brass weight and weighed it. "Is this all?"

"Some ingredients are more powerful than others, Harry. Be exactly precise."

His hands itching to guide Harry's smaller ones in this fiddly task, Snape watched as the boy took the minuscule spoon and tipped a portion into the tray. The scales tipped a trifle then settled back.

"A little more," Harry murmured. He tipped again and the scales lifted too sharply and settled the other way. "Oh, too much."

"No harm done. Just take a little off. Do you want me to do it?"

"No!" Harry said stubbornly. "I can do it."

And he did, although it took four tries before the scales finally balanced perfectly. It was worth all the finicky struggles as Harry turned a shining face up to him, his grin wide. "Look! I did it!"

"A fine job," Snape praised gently, feeling a glow of pleasure and pride himself. His son would make a fine brewer one day. "Now stir it in, just as I showed you."

With his hands firmly by his side Snape guided Harry through the final few steps until the milky white brew was shimmering in the bottom of the cauldron.

"Now comes a little magic. I'll need to stir it myself to finish it."

Harry looked crestfallen. "Can't I do it?"

Snape considered his disappointed countenance. The boy had worked quite hard. And it could only be beneficial for him to finish what he started.

"We'll do it together," Snape allowed. He covered Harry's right hand with his own. "Concentrate, son. You must feel the desire to complete this task, you must want with your very being to take the essences you have blended and create that which you set out to do."

Harry closed his eyes very tight, knitting his brow furiously.

"What did we set out to do?" Snape whispered, forming the magic within himself to pour into the potion.

"To help people," Harry murmured, just as his father let the magic flow. To Snape's amazement he felt the subtle coursing of Harry's own childish power through his hand as it drifted into the cauldron and blended with the essences within, causing it to glow pearlescent for a moment before fading back to its pallid hue.

Slowly Harry's eyes opened and gazed into his father's. "Wow," he said softly.

And Snape could only agree.

888

Although he'd intended to guide Harry right through to the bottling stage of the process Snape called a halt after the final mixing, laying a cover over the cauldron and leaving the brew to sit for a while. With his experienced eye he could tell it was an amazingly powerful potion, capable of greater healing than the surface effects of sunburn.

With a mingled respect and awe he studied his son's small form as he knelt on the stool and washed his hands in the huge chipped sink.

"That was hard work but it was good," Harry was chattering. "Especially the end with the magic."

"How did it feel to you, Harry?" Snape had to ask. "The magic?"

Harry stilled his hands under the sputtering tap, tilting his head to one side thoughtfully. "It felt... good," he said, his childish vocabulary obviously not up to the task. He frowned in frustration and seemed to grope for more words. "Like a warm bath, or a full tummy." He blinked and looked over at his father. "Or when you hold onto me, daddy, and hold me real tight. You know?"

Snape nodded, throat tight. That was the best description a five year old could make for natural magic, and it was actually a pretty bloody good one.

Harry climbed off the stool and dried his hands on the ragged towel. "Was that really my magic, daddy?" he asked, a trifle anxiously. "Did you help me?"

"I intended to," Snape admitted. "Because it was your first time. In the end it was both our magic that went into the brew."

Harry nodded in satisfaction. "That's probably why it felt so good," he said, nodding knowledgeably.

"It certainly made it powerful," Snape murmured. He proffered his hand and Harry took it, smiling a little shyly.

"Can we do some more potions some time, daddy? It was the best fun we've had together, wasn't it?"

"So it was fun then?" Snape couldn't resist asking, recalling Harry's surprise at his father's use of the word earlier.

Harry nodded again. "Cos it was you and me," he explained, and Snape, who'd taught a few classes during his training with Madam Bright had to agree. That it was Harry he was teaching certainly did make it 'fun'.

"Next weekend then," he promised and Harry squeezed his hand and began to chatter happily again, this time about lunch.

Snape locked the dungeon door behind them with a word, leaving the father and son's first potion glimmering gently in its cauldron.


	9. Chapter 9

Snape ushered his charges up the stair case to their classroom feeling the anticipation of the holidays already prickling within him. Traditionally the last days of term in the dungeons was spent on cleaning, an activity certain to bring a groan to the lips of every student, and a glint to the eye of their professors.

Snape could hardly wait.

Pushing open the door he let the excited children into the classroom and lounged against the door jamb in an almost relaxed manner. Today would be the last day he'd have to see Lupin in a while as well.

It was going to be a good day.

"Ah, boys," Lupin greeted from his desk. He glanced up at the clock. "You're early."

Harry and Neville exchanged conspiratorial glances and rushed forward.

"We have presents for you!" Harry exclaimed.

"Because it's the last day of term," Neville added helpfully, pushing his parcel forward.

"And we made them ourselves!" Harry finished, holding up a clumsily wrapped package and laying it on the desk.

Lupin gazed from one to the other of them, a gentle smile blossoming on his face. "How very kind," he said softly.

Neville beamed and Harry's chest swelled as he smiled proudly. "Open them," he suggested.

Lupin held out his hand and hesitated. "Which one first?" he wondered.

Neville was quickest, sliding his small envelope across the neat desk top. "Mine!"

Harry bit his lip in impatience, hopping from one foot to the other as Lupin admired the hand printed paper and carefully undid the string. Finally he revealed a snowy rectangle of card with a blue ribbon dangling from it.

"It's a bookmark," Neville said shyly and Lupin smiled and gently stroked the ribbon.

"So I see. It's wonderful."

Neville blew out a relieved breath and grinned happily. "I drew the picture," he explained. "It's a picture of you reading a book under the beech tree."

Lupin studied the drawing, looking impressed. "It looks just like me," he remarked. "Look, Severus, Neville's painting has improved tremendously."

Snape nodded agreement. He was in a position to study Neville and Harry's artwork every day, indeed he had a hard time avoiding it.

"Open mine, open mine," Harry moaned, almost vibrating with anticipation.

Obediently Lupin undid the thick string and the paper fell away to reveal a small stoppered jar.

"It's a healing potion!" Harry burst out. "I made it all by myself. Although daddy helped," he added swiftly.

Lupin looked from the jar to Snape who inclined his head slightly. "It was Harry's first brew," he admitted. "And it's an extremely effective healing balm."

"I thought you might like it 'cos you get bruises and things all the time," Harry said innocently. "And quite often you look poorly."

Snape winced a little. "Harry, what have I told you about making personal remarks?"

Harry frowned. "I'm not being rude," he insisted. "I'm just splainin' why I thought he'd like it." He turned to Lupin. "You do like it, don't you?" he asked anxiously.

"Very much," Lupin said huskily. "I like both presents very much and they'll both be immensely useful."

Harry nodded and slanted his father a smug glance. "See, daddy?," he said. "Mr Lupin knows I wasn't being rude."

"All the same," Snape murmured, not wanting to get into one of Harry's interminable arguments in front of Lupin. "Please try to refrain from making any personal comments in future."

Harry opened his mouth as if to argue the point anyway, when mercifully the bell rang and the boys rushed to their seats.

"Severus," Lupin called as Snape turned to go. "A moment, if you please."

Snape waited impatiently at the door. "Yes?"

The tutor ushered him onto the landing and half closed the door behind them. "Harry has mentioned to me a few times that you're taking him to see dragons over the summer holidays."

"So?"

"Well is it true? Harry being Harry I took it with a grain of salt, but-"

"My son doesn't lie," Snape said silkily and Lupin frowned.

"Please, Severus, I'm not looking for a fight with you, not today. I'm not saying Harry would lie, the boy's much too open and guileless for that. I just meant he does get the occasional flight of fancy now and then."

Snape sighed. "Fine, I accept your apology. Now, was there a question in there somewhere, or are you just enjoying wasting my time?"

Lupin set his jaw. "Are you taking Harry to see the dragons?" he asked grimly. And before Snape could remind him that it was none of Lupin's business what he did with his son the tutor rushed on. "Because I'm just wondering who else Harry has mentioned this to? Do you really think it's safe to leave Hogwarts with him?"

Impatiently tapping his fingers against his side Snape decided on the short version of his speech. Lupin wasn't worth wasting too much breath on.

"Mind your own business," he said curtly. Then, pleased at the immensely offended look he'd caused on Lupin's face, he nodded politely and sauntered down the stairs.

Yes, it was going to be a very good day.

888

Fudge laid the last parchment aside with a sigh.

"Can't thank you enough for this, Dumbledore," he said happily, pulling out a large spotted kerchief and wiping it over his forehead. "Those cursed goblins have been making my life a misery since these negotiations started."

"I'll think you'll find, Minister," Dumbledore said genially. "That goblins, like most folk, respond best to honesty and courtesy."

Fudge tried to keep the incredulity off his face, contenting himself with a grunt and a nod.

"Either way." He smiled gratefully. "I'm glad to get these contracts sorted before term ends. I expect you'll be winging off somewhere exciting, ey?" Without bothering to wait for a reply he rubbed his hands together eagerly. "Now, how about that spot of tea?"

"Of course," Dumbledore murmured, waving his wand languidly. A tea tray appeared, spinning gently before landing on the table. "Macaroon?"

"Don't mind if I do."

"I'll play mother, shall I?" the headmaster offered, pouring tea into two wafer thin cups and adding a swirl of milk to each. "Two sugars, wasn't it?"

Fudge accepted his tea and sat back with a sigh, contemplating an afternoon's work well done. It was certainly handy to be able to come to Dumbledore for help, satisfying too considering how galling it was that the man had been offered the job and turned it down.

Fudge glanced around the cramped tower room, sneering inwardly. Imagine turning down the Minister for Magic job to stay in this place? It was unbelievable and sometimes, just now and then, Fudge didn't believe it. Sometimes he even wondered if old Dumbledore didn't have reasons of his own for wanting to stay here...

The thought reminded him of something and he reached into his jacket pocket.

"I say," he exclaimed. "I quite forgot. Your latest letter about young Harry Potter." He straightened it out and examined it again.

"Yes?"

"Well, see here, Dumbledore," Fudge said carefully. "I've been patient about this, you can't say I haven't. Sat on my hands and let you handle it for the last six months, figured you knew best. But I'm not at all sure I can do that any more. I've had folk questioning me about this, some quite important folk. About the boy's muggle family and their treatment of him mainly. Couldn't you have got him away from the muggles a bit more discreetly, old chap? Caused a bit of a brouhaha, didn't it?"

"A small stir perhaps," Dumbledore admitted easily. "But no harm done. No danger to our world at any rate."

"Well, perhaps, perhaps." Fudge smoothed the folds in the creased paper absently. "But there are still questions to be asked. Why did you send him off with muggles anyway? And who's this youngster claiming to be his real father now? I've had reports that he's a bit... unsavoury."

Dumbledore raised a brow. "From whom?" he enquired politely.

Fudge felt himself flushing and fought it back with irritation.

"Not at liberty to say," he said shortly. "Looked into him myself, of course. No criminal record."

Dumbledore smiled. "Hardly! I'm sure your investigations discovered an ex pupil of this school who achieved distinctions and broke records with his results. And who went on to become a fine potion maker."

"Yes, werewolf brews and suchlike," Fudge dismissed scornfully. "Hardly the kind of work a respectable brewer would concern himself with!"

Dumbledore placed his tea cup on its matching saucer, eyes sober. "You don't think so? Helping the afflicted with what is, after all, a horribly painful disease..."

"Well of course I see the merit in it," Fudge said hastily. "Citizens protected from werewolf attacks and what not. Still..." Fudge sought for words. He hated the way the headmaster still made him feel like he was standing before him in a classroom again, being dressed down for some infraction. "There's this sordid business over who fathered who. Really, couldn't he have let the Potters rest in peace? They were heroes after all, and stirring up old tales about affairs and the like seems a bit beyond the pale now, don't you think?"

"I think James and Lily are dead," Dumbledore said frankly. "And they would care less for their reputations if it meant their son was being taken care of."

"Ah, but he wasn't 'their' son, was he?" Fudge pounced. "That's the point! I don't mind telling you, Dumbledore, it's got folk stirred up. Besmirching the name of the Boy-Who-Lived!"

"I fail to see how Harry's name could be besmirched by events that took place before he was born," the headmaster said in amusement.

"Do you?" Fudge asked cynically. "Well, excuse me for saying so, headmaster, but you haven't had much contact with the actual voting public now, have you? To them young Harry Potter is a bit of a legend, and they don't like their legends being trampled on." He hesitated then plunged on, encouraged by Dumbledore's thoughtful little nod. "It's been suggested to me that perhaps the Ministry ought to step in and take a hand. Make sure the boy's all right, sort of thing. Er, what do you think?"

"I think it's a fine idea," Dumbledore said agreeably. "Then you can go back and let, er, folk know that everything is well in hand. Harry is with his father and quite happy."

Fudge was taken aback by the quick agreement. "Glad you agree," he said in pleased surprise. "Um, bit of a delicate question here. Are you quite sure this Snape is who he claims to be? The boy's, er, natural father I mean. After all, Dumbledore, there are unscrupulous folk out there who might try to benefit from connecting themselves with famous Harry Potter."

"Hard to believe," Dumbledore murmured blandly.

Fudge leaned forward. "Indeed it is!" he agreed. "And yet it's true. Now this Snape, I'm assuming you've performed the standard paternity charm on him?"

"Of course."

Fudge nodded. "And no one's doubting you know your stuff," he said earnestly. "But as you said yourself the young fellow is a master brewer. Isn't it possible that he might have managed to falsify the results somehow...?"

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "Of course, anything's possible," he admitted.

Fudge sat back in his chair with a satisfied sigh.

"Except I heard it from Lily's own lips," Dumbledore continued.

Fudge froze. "You what?" he stuttered.

Nodding confirmation the older wizard expanded. "The day I went to warn them they were being directly threatened by Voldemort."

Fudge winced at the name.

"I had my suspicions earlier, you see," Dumbledore went on. "Lily confirmed them that day. Severus Snape was Harry's biological father." He fixed Fudge with one of his piercing gazes. "And there was nothing sordid about it, Minister. Lily herself assured me of that."

Fudge took this in, mouth agape. "Nothing sordid?" he sputtered. "It all sounds pretty sordid to me! And now this young fellow is raising Harry Potter?"

"Harry is being raised by his father," Dumbledore agreed.

"Well it all sounds very fishy," Fudge said huffily. "Very fishy indeed. I think I better meet this fellow then, and see for myself what's going on here!"

"Of course," Dumbledore murmured again. "May I finish my tea?"

888

"I don't remember this tower," Fudge panted a little as he climbed behind the headmaster up the winding staircase.

"It wasn't in use when you attended the school." Dumbledore paused outside a classroom. "It's been recently renovated." He quietly pushed the door open and the two wizards were treated to the sight of two small boys sitting studiously at their desks, heads bent over their books. Their teacher looked up and rose to his feet.

"Headmaster," he greeted, looking politely surprised. "How nice to see you."

"Mr Lupin." Dumbledore entered the bright classroom and Fudge followed, taking in the wide open windows, safely barred against accidents, letting in a warm summer breeze. Between the windows on the rough brick wall brightly crayoned pictures were fastened, fluttering a little in the breeze. A table was set up at the back of the room, covered with rocks and leaves and tree bark with fungus and mushrooms sprouting at odd angles. Something stirred in a gloomy fish tank.

"May I introduce you to Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic?"

Mr Lupin extended a hand and Fudge shook it heartily. "Nice classroom you have here," he said genially. "Reminds me of my first class when I was a youngster. Madam Mirkin's Grammar School," he said reminiscently. "Quite a terror with a ruler, was dear Madam M!"

Lupin smiled politely. "The boys have been going over their mathematics," he murmured, gesturing to the board where some simple sums were written.

Fudge turned and smiled genially at the two curious faces turned to him. "Harry Potter!" he exclaimed, reaching out a hand and then realising the absurdity of offering to shake a child's hand. He finished by tousling the boy's hair instead. "Nice to meet you at last!"

Harry lifted a hand to his hair and smoothed it, looking surprised. "Hello," he said cautiously.

"And this is Neville Longbottom, Minister," Dumbledore said smoothly and Fudge flicked a quick glance at the other child. "He and Harry take lessons together. You might know his grandmother?"

But Fudge wasn't a politician for nothing, he had already recognised the name and was beaming brilliantly. "Course I do, course I do!" he said jovially. "A fine old family, the Longbottoms. And how apt that the boys should be educated here together, ey?"

"I thought so," Dumbledore acknowledged.

"May we help you, headmaster?" Lupin asked curiously.

"Don't mind us," Fudge said airily, waving a hand in dismissal. "I was just curious to see how young Harry's getting along here." He slanted another glance at the boy, eyes drawn once more to that famous scar. "After all, everyone in our world is concerned for him, and wondering how he is."

Harry frowned and glanced at Neville, who frowned and shrugged back.

"Excuse me," Harry said politely. "But I can't see the board, sir. If we don't get our sums done then Mr Lupin won't take us down to run our race."

Fudge skipped back nimbly, smiling again. "What a keen student!" he remarked. "And what race is this?"

"It's the last day of term so we thought we might spend our afternoon playing games outside," Lupin explained. "Harry likes to run races, although Neville prefers to play catch."

"Sounds like fun," Fudge agreed. "How many sums are left to do, I wonder? Surely the boys have had their heads stuffed with enough for one year, ey? Why don't we call it a day and all walk down together. I admit I'd like to see the boys at play. What do you say?"

Harry and Neville looked hopefully at their tutor, who smiled and nodded.

"Yay!" Harry exclaimed.

"Close your books and put them in your desks, boys," Lupin said firmly as the child made to jump off his chair.

Dutifully the boys tidied their desks as they did every day and then they rushed to the door, where they stopped and stood, politely if impatiently waiting for the adults to catch up.

"You won't forget your presents, will you, Mr Lupin?" Neville reminded him anxiously and Lupin bestowed a kind smile.

"I shall return to class later, Neville, to pick up my things. And I have to fetch Grindy from his tank as well." He laid a hand on each of their heads and they smiled up at him, eyes shining. "Remember no running on the stairs."

They nodded enthusiastically before holding hands and preceding the adults out the door.

"You seem to have them well in hand, Mr Lupin," Fudge complimented as the two boys walked sedately down the winding stairs. He flicked the young man a curious glance. "Not to be indelicate, but who pays you? Mrs Longbottom or Mr Snape?"

"Neither," Dumbledore interjected smoothly. "Remus is employed by me. He assists me occasionally."

In what capacity, Fudge wondered to himself.

888

In the sunlight the boys lost their sedate demeanour and Lupin let them run amok for a few minutes before calling them into lines and arranging them side by side. He counted down and them called out for them to go, standing back and chuckling as Harry took off like a bull at the gate. Neville puffed to keep up and Harry turned, craning his head to see his opponent over his shoulder.

This was his undoing as he tripped on a rough spot and tumbled over.

Fudge leaned forward in concern but Harry was laughing and Neville puffed past him and crossed the line Lupin had drawn in the air with his wand, holding up his hands and grinning.

"How many times have I told you not to turn around?" Lupin chided and Harry shrugged and jumped up. Neville jogged back to him and punched him on the arm and Harry threw his arm around his shoulder and they chuckled.

"They never do finish a race properly." Lupin confided fondly. "But Harry insists on competing just the same."

"And how is young Harry as a student?" Fudge asked curiously.

"Eager." Lupin smiled. "He'd rather be drawing than writing, or playing than reading or doing just about anything than maths! Like most five year olds I imagine. Neville's no different."

Fudge frowned in disappointment. "But surely he shows great promise?" he urged. "A prodigy?"

Lupin raised his brow. "I wouldn't say that," he said doubtfully. "Although there's no doubt he's a wizard through and through. Both he and Neville show fine natural magic. The boys were racing down the steps last week, despite my orders, and Neville tripped and bounced all the way to the bottom. Not a scratch on him."

"Yes, yes," Fudge dismissed. "But Harry Potter? A powerful wizard in the making?"

Lupin exchanged a glance with Dumbledore and Fudge followed it eagerly. The tutor only shrugged.

"Who can say?" He glanced over at the boys. "Excuse me, time to organise some games I think."

Fudge frowned. There was something odd about this tutor. Sometimes he seemed a young man, now for instance as he smiled and clapped the youngsters on the shoulder. But at other times the light caught the grey in his hair and the lines around his eyes.

"Ah," Dumbledore murmured. "Here's Severus. He usually picks the boys up at this time of day."

Fudge turned, still frowning, and could only stare in dismay at the figure striding towards him. This was the father of famous Harry Potter?

Tall and thin, with a hooked nose and long lanky hair the man was hardly what Fudge had been expecting. Surely he was a contemporary of the deceased Potters? That would make him less than thirty, and yet he already had a almost dissipated look of cynicism about him.

Fudge was not pleased.

Dumbledore introduced them and if Fudge had been expecting any kind of guilty reaction from the man he was sorely disappointed. Snape merely held out his hand and nodded courteously.

"I might go and supervise these games," Dumbledore said genially. "Do excuse me."

Fudge was left standing by this odd fellow, unsure exactly what to say.

Did you have an affair with Lily Potter? That hardly seemed appropriate. Neither did: were you perhaps involved in some sordid three way tryst?

A better question might be: what did Lily Potter, a lovely vivacious young witch by all accounts, see in this gloomy looking chap?

Not that he was ugly or deformed in any way. But he was no oil painting either and his manner was quite surly and abrupt.

"I, er, understand you're to teach here, next year," Fudge began tentatively.

Snape inclined his head. "I am. I have already taught a few classes for Madam Bright this term," he expanded.

"And how do you like it?"

Snape looked at him blandly. "Most enjoyable."

"Ah, good, good." Fudge made up his mind. This cold fish may or may not be Harry Potter's father, but that was beside the point. The boy could do better. "I understand you're a fine brewer?" he said, feigning admiration. "A lot of people in the business speak most highly of you."

Snape didn't pretend false modesty, he merely inclined his head. "Yes."

Fudge blinked. "Well, a man should now his own worth," he allowed. "As a matter of fact I happen to know of a position opening up that might be just up your alley, so to speak. At the Ministry, in our Research division."

Snape's brows rose. "I was unaware the Ministry had a Research division dealing with potions."

"It's fairly new," Fudge admitted, not mentioning he'd just thought of it at that moment. "Fine position though, plenty of scope for discovery and invention. World class facilities, don't you know."

"It sounds fascinating."

"Do you think so?" Fudge murmured. The hook was baited, now to dangle it. "Have to get the perfect person to head it of course. Younger chap, new ideas." He slanted Snape a glance. "Interested?"

Snape turned a politely amazed look at him. "Me?" he exclaimed unconvincingly. "But I have a position here. And Harry is settled in quite nicely."

"Ah, Harry," Fudge said quickly, as if that wasn't the subject on his mind all along. A cynical expression slithered across Snape's face but Fudge didn't mind. This was turning into the kind of negotiation he understood, quid pro quo and deals across and under the table. All he had to do was offer what the other side wanted and the deal would be done.

"Harry's young," Fudge dismissed. "He can settle in anywhere. The Ministry has access to fine tutors and facilities for him. Where he'd mix with the children of our best families. Deserving of such a hero, of course."

"Of course," Snape murmured. "And me? Where would I fit into this?"

Got you! "Where ever you like, dear chap," Fudge beamed. "No doubt you're fond of the boy and would be glad to see him now and then!"

"Hmm," Snape said, lifting a long fingered hand to his chin and stroking it gently. "A tempting offer," he allowed. "But one I must decline."

"What?" Fudge looked at him, dumbfounded.

"If only I'd known of it before I settled here," Snape said regretfully.

"But it's not too late-"

"Before I'd made my deal with Dumbledore," Snape over rode him, still gazing into the distance and stroking his chin.

"Deal?" Fudge said sharply. "What deal?"

Snape turned surprised eyes on him. "Didn't he tell you?" he marvelled. "Well, it's hardly my place to do so." He indicated the boys, now panting in a heap on the grass. "I should-"

"But wait!" Fudge caught his arm and held it tightly. It was remarkably sinewy under his fingers and he felt the muscles bunch and tense for a moment before Snape relaxed. "I want to hear about this deal!"

Snape considered him, head on one side. "You should talk to the headmaster," he said regretfully. "He's my employer after all, and my landlord to, come to that. I wouldn't want to offend him."

"But see here," Fudge said belligerently. "You don't have to be afraid of him, Snape. The Ministry will guarantee you protection."

Snape looked astonished. "Afraid?" he repeated. "Whatever gave you that idea? I'm grateful, Minister, terribly grateful." He frowned curiously. "Why ever would you think I was afraid? Of Albus Dumbledore?"

Fudge found himself flushing at the young wizard's polite incredulity, and he began to dislike him even more. Every smooth word out of the man's mouth sounded like it was twisted somehow. What exactly was the truth in all this?

"You could have a great future, you know," Fudge said sullenly. "Why would you choose to plant yourself out here in this old place?"

Snape looked away again, and the stiff breeze blew a lank strand of hair over his face, obscuring his line of sight for the moment.

"Harry appears to have won a race," he said coolly. "Do excuse me, Minister."

And Fudge could only stare after the greasy fellow, hands clenched in frustration.

888

"You seem troubled, Minister," Dumbledore said in concern. "Didn't seeing Harry set your mind at rest?"

Fudge sat back in the armchair and fisted his chin broodingly. "I don't see why you thought it would," he said waspishly. "Honestly, Dumbledore, that Snape fellow! He's not exactly Mr Personality, is he?"

"He has bags of personality," Dumbledore chuckled. "It's just that most of it is quite unpleasant."

Fudge harrumphed. "I'll say. Chap was polite of course, didn't put a foot wrong. But just looking at him one can tell... Well, he's hardly the sort that should be raising The Boy Who Lived!"

Dumbledore looked regretful. "Alas," he sighed. "If we could only choose our relatives as we choose our friends! But whatever your opinion on Severus Snape, Minister, I hardly think you're in a position to comment on how he raises his son. Blood lines being, as they are, sacrosanct."

Cornelius waved his hand airily. "Oh, there's ways around that," he said craftily. "If the Ministry deems it a matter of national importance, or some such thing."

Dumbledore looked mildly surprised. "And does the Ministry deem Harry Potter a matter of such importance?"

Fudge clenched his teeth irritably. "Please, Dumbledore, don't be obtuse, of course they do. They must! Harry Potter... did it," he hissed. "When no one else could, when even you couldn't! He did it. He killed... You Know Who. That makes him important."

"If that is how you see it," Dumbledore agreed. "Then I suppose it would. But I fail to see how any of that matters now?"

"Of course it matters now!" Fudge exclaimed, throwing his hands up in disgust. "Because we still don't know how he did it, do we?" He paused and narrowed his eyes. "Do we?"

But Dumbledore merely shook his silvery head in regret. "We do not know what happened that night, no. But I must admit that I find your assuredness that what happened could have been of Harry's doing quite curious. Being as he was, only a baby."

Fudge blinked. "Who else could it have been? He lived and... You Know Who died. It must have been him!"

"If it was indeed a person," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "Perhaps it was something Voldemort himself did, or failed to do. Or was it even something the Potters did as they gave their very lives to protect the child? Who knows?" He focused his attention on Fudge.

"But what we do know, Minister, is that Harry is a very normal little boy who shows no sign of any memory of that night. Or any extraordinary powers come to that. There's no reason to concern ourselves with him unduly."

Fudge blinked. He knew the headmaster well enough to know when one of his amiable pronouncements was more than a suggestion. "See here, Dumbledore," he said, not without a trace of nervousness. Snape's mention of a deal with Dumbledore was still very much on his mind. "Why does any of this concern you?"

Dumbledore smiled genially. "Any number of reasons," he explained with a kindly nod. "Snape is somewhat of a protégée of mine, despite his rather, er, abrupt manner. And he's an employee now, and he, like his son, call Hogwarts home."

"All the same," Fudge began but Dumbledore raised his voice, just a little and silenced him.

"And I think children belong with their parents," he finished firmly, and now there wasn't a trace of his amiable smile or genial nod. Now his eyes were quite clear and hard and direct as they gazed at him and Fudge felt that shiver again, like a schoolboy called before a stern professor.

Whatever his private opinions on the the fellow, and he had many, Fudge knew that he still needed him. Needed his advice over grave matters, needed his influence with the leaders of some of the lesser races. Needed his authority over powerful witches and wizards who still had a difficult time accepting that the Ministry of Magic could change and create rules they had lived with for over a century.

He needed Albus Dumbledore.

And he also resented him bitterly.

With a hard swallow Fudge managed to summon a smile onto his face. "Well, well," he said gruffly to hide his anger. "Of course you're right. Not like I was suggesting any different! Little Harry Potter should stay here, at least for the time being. Time will tell whether this Johnny-come-lately of a father will stay the course. Hasn't been around for the last five years, has he? Might be that fatherhood and, er, life at Hogwarts doesn't agree with him." He stood and reached for his hat, pressing it firmly on top of his head. "In that case, Dumbledore, you'll agree that the Ministry will have to step in."

Dumbledore also stood, his lined old face creasing in a smile. "Of course," he murmured. "If Severus ever tires of fatherhood I will let you know. But are you leaving so soon, Minister? I thought you were staying for the Leaving Feast?"

Fudge managed another smile, feeling this one fraying at the edges. "Like to, of course. Busy schedule, people to see, meetings and so forth. Next time, perhaps."

With a smile Dumbledore nodded. "Perhaps."

888

Harry peered impatiently at the empty platters before them. "When is the food coming?" he moaned. "I'm starving."

"The children aren't all here yet," Neville pointed out. "Nor's the headmaster."

Lowering his head to the table Harry sighed dramatically. "We should of had a snack before coming down here."

"Should have," Snape corrected. "Really, Harry, what have you been learning at school all term?"

"That's my cue," Lupin said, appearing behind them and laying a hand on Harry's tousled head. "Fainting from hunger, Harry?"

The boy sat up straight and eyed his tutor with a grin. "Do you have any chocolate, Mr Lupin?" he asked hopefully.

Lupin smoothed soft black hair fondly. "Even if I did I wouldn't spoil your supper," he teased and Harry rolled his eyes and sighed again.

"As it happens I do have a small non-chocolate related gift for both of you," he said, presenting them with a book each. The thick card covers were decorated with pictures and their names; Harry's had a dragon on the front and Neville's a tawny brown owl.

"For us?" Neville said in wonder, while Harry touched long little fingers to the fierce golden dragon gracing his cover. Neville opened the book and flipped through the snowy white blank pages.

"In thanks for your fine presents this morning," Lupin explained. "Although I didn't make these, my work isn't nearly as fine as yours."

"I can paint in mine," Neville said happily, but Harry still stayed quiet, his hands now flicking through the blank book.

"What's up, Harry?" Lupin asked lightly. "Don't you like it?"

Harry lifted his head and gazed at him, slanted green eyes curiously shiny and bright. "Can I write anything I like in here?" he asked in amazement. "Or draw too?"

Lupin smiled gently. "Of course you may. It's yours, Harry. My gift to you."

"Thank you, Mr Lupin," Harry said politely. Then he turned and caught the tutor around the waist and hugged him, hard.

Lupin looked startled, lifting his hands and almost stepping back from the swift hug. He shot Snape a look and for the first time ever the Potions Master felt some stirring of sympathy within himself for his former enemy. He remembered all too well what it was like, after an adult lifetime deprived of touch, to have Harry's thin little arms wrapped around you, to have Harry's needy little heart reach out to ensnare you.

Harry pulled back and grinned, seeming now at ease. "I have presents from four people now," he said cheerfully. As he began to count them off on his fingers Snape watched Lupin from the corner of his eye. The tutor was regaining his composure, trying to recapture his easy smile from earlier.

"My daddy," Harry reported, bending one finger. "Perfessor Dumbledore, Mrs Weasley and now you. That's four."

"Thank you, Mr Lupin," Neville smiled and Lupin seemed to relax, smoothing Neville's soft brown hair and touching his nose gently.

"You're welcome. Both of you."

Dumbledore swept up to the table and the boys sat up straighter. "Oh, good!" Harry exclaimed. "Nearly time to eat!"

Dumbledore gave his last speech of the year, dispensing awards and merits along with the House Cup. Considering Harry's starved state he behaved quite well during the speech, only earning one glare when he poked his tongue out at Charlie Weasley and chuckled when the rude gesture was returned by half the Gryffindor table.

Finally the platters were groaning with food and Harry helped himself to a half a dozen sausages, complaining only when his father put four of them back. Waiting for the cover of the excited chatter and the sound of cutlery ringing Snape looked over at the headmaster, hoping his question would be obvious on his face and that his anxiety wouldn't.

Dumbledore immediately caught his eye and gave a small nod, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smile. Tension flowed from Snape and he sat back in his chair, relief flooding through him.

He had a dozen questions to ask the headmaster when the time was right, and a dozen more anxieties still simmering below the surface, but for now at least Fudge was gone and he'd taken his Ministry authority with him.

"Doesn't it, daddy?" Harry was asking him and Snape focused on his son. "Onions make the gravy yucky."

"I happen to enjoy onions very much, Harry," Snape said, feeling the beginnings of an appetite. He helped himself to a sausage and smothered it with onion gravy. "And don't lecture Neville, he's entitled to his likes and dislikes as you are."

"I just ignore it," Neville said placidly, forking up some sausage and dipping it delicately in gravy.

"It will be lonely here without the big children, won't it?" Harry said thoughtfully, as he forgot his objection to onions in the gravy and tucked back in.

"It will be more boring back at home," Neville pointed gloomily. "Although my Great Uncle Algy said we might go fishing. Gran would never let me go before so I've never been."

"I expect Mr Lupin will be quite lonely without us," Harry observed.

"I'm sure he'll cope," Snape murmured, remembering the party in the staff common room at lunchtime celebrating the end of the school year and the long summer holiday ahead. Madame Bright had been so cheerful about her retirement that she'd actually laughed aloud.

"But next term we'll be in Year Two," Harry said in satisfaction. "Charlie told me he got his first broom when he was in Year Two." With slanted green eyes Harry flicked a quick glance at his father and then continued as if on an entirely unrelated subject. "It's my birthday during the holidays," he said innocently. "I wonder what I'll get?"

With a snort Snape helped himself to another sausage and some veg. He had a feeling he would need all his strength for the summer holidays ahead.


	10. Chapter 10

Snape climbed astride the hovering broomstick and studied Harry's excited face. Actually, now that he considered it, excited was too mild a word to describe his son's condition. Harry was almost vibrating with anticipation.

He reached out an arm and snagged the child, lifting him easily to his lap and settling him there.

"Warm enough?"

"Too warm." Harry wriggled.

"You'll appreciate it once we're up there. Now hold still." He gestured with his wand and a collection of leather straps and buckles whipped smoothly into place and bound the child firmly to him.

"Daddy!" Harry exclaimed, but his protest died as the broomstick lifted another few feet above the ground. "Oh, how is it doing that?" Craning his neck Harry peered below them. "Magic doesn't even make a sound!"

"I told you to hold still," Snape reminded him. "Here we go."

And then the broomstick was rising smoothly and within a moment they were above the treetops. Harry's hands clutched at his forearms, and Snape could tell that the boy had never been so excited.

He was actually speechless.

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It didn't last long.

Harry craned his neck all around, just as interested in the clouds and the birds winging past as he was with the ground beneath them. Far below a river glimmered in the morning light and cars crawled slowly along a winding highway. "Won't the muggles see us?"

"I've used a charm to make sure they don't, Harry. Do sit still."

"Why do I have to have straps on?" Harry complained. "I'm not a baby." He jumped and pointed. "Ooh, look! An airplane!"

Snape used one hand to tug the boy closer while he steadied the broom with the other. "Harry Potter! If you don't hold still I will turn this broomstick right around!"

"But you promised to take me to see the dragons!" Harry turned a dismayed face to him.

"And you promised to behave," his father reminded him sternly.

Harry subsided. "All right." He sat slumped for a few minutes as they climbed a little higher to avoid some clouds. A few drops of rain pattered onto them and the boy shivered and cuddled back against his father's warmth.

Snape tugged his cloak around them both and patted the boy consolingly. "We'll stop for lunch, Harry, and warm you up in the sun."

"Will it be warm in Ru-mane-ee-a, daddy?" Harry asked tentatively, sounding out the word as he'd been taught.

"Not where we're going, Harry. The dragons are kept high in the mountains, away from muggles."

Harry shivered again, this time from excitement as much as cold. "I can't wait to see them," he breathed. "Oh, daddy! Did we bring the camera?"

Snape patted his top pocket. "It's in our trunk, along with everything else we'll need."

Harry began to chatter about the pictures he'd take, so that he could show Charlie and Bill and Neville and Ronnie the moving dragons. Snape listened tolerantly, glad the boy had settled down a little. Broomstick was hardly his preferred mode of travel, especially over such a long distance and with a small child.

The decision to make the journey in this manner was one he'd come to after much thought, and eventually advice from Dumbledore. Usually a family holiday with children too young to apparate would be taken by floo, in easy stages. But since their greatest concern had to be for Harry's safety they had eventually decided against such means. They would come into contact with far too many people on such a journey, especially at this time of year when holiday makers were on the move.

By lunchtime Snape was scanning the thick forest below when he spotted a thin blue ribbon of a stream glinting in the noon day sunlight. Feet skimming the tops of the trees he followed the winding stream until he spotted a small grassy clearing. A pair of foraging deer jerked their heads upwards in surprise and broke for cover as the broomstick gently made its descent.

"Is that a river?" Harry asked curiously as the straps unfurled and his father set him on his feet. Snape climbed off and straightened his stiff spine, feeling aches in unfamiliar places.

"Just a stream, Harry. Stretch your legs for a few minutes but don't go near the edge."

Bending his neck to the ominous sounds of cricking and creaking, Snape finally managed to work a few kinks out. He'd forgotten what traveling such long distances by broomstick could be like.

His left pocket held their huge trunk, conveniently shrunk down to travel size, and his right held a picnic hamper packed by the house elves and containing a sumptuous feast. Shaking out the thick blanket Snape called Harry over and they sat in the sun and enjoyed the crunchy chicken legs and soft fluffy rolls.

Harry had already stripped off his robe and was sitting cross legged in his old jeans and shirt. "The sun is making my toes tingle," he said, stretching his legs and yawning.

"We have no time for napping today, Harry," Snape warned and Harry opened his eyes wide.

"I'm not sleepy!" he defended. "Only babies have naps. I told you that, daddy," he finished reproachfully.

"So you have," Snape murmured. "How forgetful I am."

Harry forgave him with a smile and took another huge bite of chicken.

"Do you remember what I said about the hotel, Harry? When we meet people?"

Harry nodded, swallowing quickly. "No chattering," he repeated, a little thickly. His father handed him a flask of lemonade and he sipped it thankfully. "No chattering to strangers," he finished.

"And your hat?"

"Keep my hat on," Harry said. "Why do I have to keep my hat on? Is it so people won't see my scar?"

"Just so."

"Oh." Harry dabbed his mouth with a snowy white napkin and helped himself to a custard tart. "Why does everyone stare at it, daddy?"

"Because they are rude gawpers with no manners," Snape informed him loftily. "And that is all you need worry about, Harry. Do you want this last piece of cake?"

Harry shook his head and looked longingly at the blue stream winding past them. "Can we go for a swim?"

"Not if we want to make the inn by nightfall, Harry."

The boy sighed and gazed longingly at the water.

Snape glanced up at the sun and relented. "You may paddle if you like."

Harry scrambled up and began to pull at the bottoms of his trousers and Snape beckoned him over.

"Come here, let me do it."

Harry stood still while his father rolled the baggy old jeans up to his knee and fastened them neatly with a spell. Then he raced to the bank of the gently flowing stream and dipped one toe in.

"Ooh, it's nice," he shivered. "Are you going to paddle too, daddy?"

Snape settled back on the blanket. "No, I don't think so. And you only have five minutes, Harry, so you shouldn't waste time trying to talk me into it."

Harry hastily took a step into the water and kicked the rippling waves pleasurably. "Look! Little fish!"

"Careful, Harry!" Snape exclaimed.

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Harry was still huffy as they left the coast and crossed the channel. "It was an accident. I was hardly even wet. And I didn't even get my whole five minutes," he sulked.

Snape ignored the whining with practised ease and pointed down below them. "There's a fishing boat," he said casually, and Harry's attention was caught.

After a few hours over water Harry began to doze, leaning back against his father and gently snoring. The sun was beginning to set as he finally wriggled and stirred awake.

"Aren't we there yet?"

"Nearly. See those lights beginning to twinkle?"

Harry yawned and knuckled his eyes, peering forward. "Is that a town?"

"It's Calais."

"Is it France, daddy?"

"Yes. There's a small inn there that's run by a wizard couple. We'll reach it before dinner."

"I'm tired."

"A little longer, Harry."

As they crossed into the town Snape pulled out a small gift from Dumbledore and held it in the palm of his hand. It was a glass ball, much like Harry and Neville's night light, and it glowed softly as he held it carefully in front of him. Inside, like a tiny fish, a red arrow swam, wriggling and squirming. Then it suddenly straightened, pointing to the right. Snape swung in that direction, slowly losing altitude until the rooftops were almost skimming his toes.

"A little more," Harry guided. "Forward now, daddy!"

The red arrow suddenly became a clenched hand, it's upwards thrusting thumb enthusiastically indicating approval.

"We're here!" Harry cheered and Snape sighed his relief and pocketed the Find-All. He should have known one of Dumbledore's gadgets would appeal to a five year old.

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The inn keeper bustled up as soon as they arrived and gestured them to a side door that subtly appeared as they approached. The muggles bustling around the bright foyer seemed to notice nothing.

"Come this way, dearies," she said in a motherly tone. "You look like you've had a long journey."

She straightened her lilac shawl around her shoulders as they followed her down an oak panelled hall, twitching her greying bun back into place as they emerged into a second foyer, this one complete with a house elf polishing a huge horse brass and a pointy hatted wizard standing pointedly ringing a bell.

"Sorry, Mr Crabtree," the witch said amiably, stepping around the desk and plucking the bell out of the air. "Did you want something?"

"No, I was just ringing that ruddy bell for my health," the wizard said grumpily. "Is supper ready yet? Only my wife said you told her six sharp."

The inn keeper smiled and gestured to a large wooden clock behind her. It's hand was clearly still a minute away from the giant six with the picture of a gently steaming dinner plate emblazoned beneath it.

The wizard rolled his eyes and stomped away and the inn keeper turned her attention on them.

"Now, gents, Let's get you sorted out." She ran her finger down the yellowing pages of the book in front of her. "Mr Snape, is it?"

Snape dealt with their check-in, accepting a huge tarnished key and signing his name where indicated. As the inn keeper left to check that their room was ready he laid a hand on Harry's head, pleased the boy was remaining quiet, as instructed.

Harry pressed closer and with a glance down Snape could see why. He was clutching his father but staring at a man standing by the counter with a newspaper in his hand. The man wore a mustard coloured suit with a wide black lapel, and an absurd little pork pie hat. He was staring fixedly at the child.

Catching Snape's eye on him he swept his hat off and bowed deeply.

"Mr Snape, is it?"

Unable to imagine any circumstances in which he would feel the need to converse with this fellow Snape pointedly ignored him.

"Only I 'eard the inn keeper say so," he said, flashing a cheeky grin and a prominent gold tooth. He took a step closer and studied them avidly.

Keeping his hand firmly on Harry's head Snape nonchalantly ensured that the woollen beanie still covered the child's forehead. Then he bared his teeth in a grimace. "Do I know you... sir?"

The fellow grinned more widely. His eyes were a curious yellow.

"Foote," he said, holding out a hand. "Claude Foote, at your service. I'm a reporter for the Daily Prophet."

Studying the hand as if it emitted a particularly nasty smell, Snape deliberately took a step backwards, towards the stairs. "Both you and your employer have my sympathies," Snape said coldly. "Now if you'll excuse us, Mr Leg."

"Foote, sir," the fellow corrected eagerly. "D'you mind me askin' sir, where you're travelin' from? I know I've 'eard your name, and real recent like. Just can't recall where."

"Now now, Claude," the inn keeper chided as she bustled back over. "I won't have you bothering my guests." She turned to Snape and nodded. "Sorry about that, Mr Snape. Your room's all ready, top of the stairs and turn right."

Keeping Harry by his side Snape turned, not even pausing as the reporter called after him.

"I will remember, Mr Snape," he warned cheerfully. "I've a great memory for names, me."

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Harry was still quiet as they entered their small set of rooms. Snape enlarged the trunk in the bedroom while Harry peeked into the tiny bathroom complete with claw footed tub.

Reflecting how glad he was they only had another days journey to the Dragon Preserve Snape collapsed back into a comfortable looking armchair. He summoned a cushion from the other chair and tucked it behind his aching spine.

"Supper should be here shortly, Harry," he told the boy as Harry came and leaned against the arm of the chair.

"Daddy?" Harry said tentatively. "Did I do something wrong?"

Snape's brow rose. "I don't know, Harry. Did you?"

Harry reached up and tugged the cap off his head and scrunched it up in his fist. "My scar?" he said uneasily. "You didn't want that man to see it."

"You needn't concern yourself with such people, Harry," Snape dismissed. There was a knock on the door and he stood back up, pleased to be able to drop the subject. "Our dinner's here. Go sit at the table."

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Harry's uneasiness faded under the onslaught of chicken pie with a mound of mashed potato and he tucked in hungrily. As Snape ate his own modest portion he found his eyes drawn again to the scar on Harry's head. How long could he avoid the hard questions to come?

The nearly six year old was less certain about the dessert that followed dinner.

"Is it pudding?" he said sceptically.

"It's blancmange, Harry," Snape said, ladling out a generous portion. "Don't eat it if you don't want to."

"You never say that about carrots," Harry muttered, spooning up a small amount and tasting it tentatively. "It's okay," he pronounced. "But I like cake better."

"I'm sure there'll be cake in Rumania," Snape said deliberately to get the child's mind back on the treat ahead.

"And dragons too!" Harry exclaimed blissfully. "I can't wait!"

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Snape postponed his own long soak while Harry had a quick bath. Helping him out of the deep tub Snape dried him briskly with the inn's thin towel and tugged a nightshirt over his head. Then he picked up the small round glasses and perched them back on Harry's nose.

"My bruise is all healed," Harry said, shaking back his sleeve and surveying his elbow with the kind of boneless grace only a very small child is capable of. "The slav we made fixed it all up."

"Salve," Snape corrected.

"Yeah." Harry smiled smugly. "And I made most of it, didn't I? Even if it was icky green."

"Remember why it was green?"

"Um, the ragwort? It was all green when we smushed it up."

"Excellent. Next time be more careful and you won't need to cure yourself."

"But I was winning!" Harry defended.

Snape shook his head as he led Harry back into the sitting room to brush his hair. He could clearly remember his astonishment at how seriously the boys had taken their tournament. "I fail to see what's so impressive about who can walk backwards the longest, Harry."

Now it was Harry shaking his head, clearly despairing of his father understanding any of the finer details of a nearly six year old's life. "Mostly it's because I'm best," he admitted. "Neville is pants at it."

"Harry!" Snape said firmly. "How many times have I told you not to repeat those vulgar expressions you learn from the Weasleys?"

"It's not vulgar," Harry insisted. "It's funny. Charlie says everything is pants. Percy is pants at riding a broom, Ronnie is pants at holding his breath under water. Bill is pants at potions."

Since Bill actually was very very pants at potions, Snape couldn't argue these points. He could however insist on the correct use of language when it came to Harry. After all, he'd only just manage to break the boy of the bad habits he'd picked up during his unfortunate muggle upbringing.

"I have told you my wishes, Harry. I do not expect to have to argue with you about it." Because if there was one thing Snape had learned from fatherhood that he would gladly pass onto anyone else, it was never ever argue with a five year old. You never won and usually ended up with a splitting headache.

"We have another long day ahead of us tomorrow, Harry, why don't we have an early night?"

"I'm not tired." Harry's protest was automatic and expected, although somewhat spoiled by the huge yawn that split his face.

"Nevertheless." Snape stood and led the way into the tiny adjoining bed chamber. Harry reluctantly followed, but brightened when he saw the wide bed.

"Are we sleeping together again?" he said hopefully. He climbed on the bed and bounced. "Great!"

Snape surveyed the already rumpled bedclothes and the happily bouncing boy and sighed in resignation. "Yes. Great." He tapped the side of his own face and Harry stopped bouncing long enough to take his glasses back off and lay them carefully on the bedside table.

Snape gathered his personal items from their expanded trunk while Harry lay back on the pillows, eyes already drooping.

"Aren't you having an early night too?"

Snape straightened and suppressed a groan at his twinging spine. His kit contained a potion to pour in the bath that would relax his abused muscles and ensure he could survive another long flight with a small child on his lap.

"After a quick bath," he murmured, but Harry was already drifting into slumber.

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Harry woke with a start and looked around him. The first thing he realised was that he didn't have the warm comfort of his bed curtains drawn around him. The second thing he realised was that he didn't know where he was.

"Daddy?" he whispered, glad that the lamps were softly glowing. He drew his knees up and peered over the edge of the soft quilt. "Daddy?"

Somewhere a clock ticked and the old walls creaked, but his father's reassuring voice did not call out an answer.

Without curtains the bed seemed enormous and the dim edges of the room seemed shadowy and sinister. Biting his lip Harry vacillated, torn between two choices. He could stay in the warmth of this big strange bed, or he could venture out to find his father. A floorboard creaked and Harry made up his mind.

Boldly he pushed the covers down and climbed off the bed, feeling the chill of the bare wooden floor beneath his feet. He wanted to call for his father again, but now he was out of bed he didn't like to somehow. The empty spaces of the unfamiliar room seemed large and echoing and his voice would seem very loud in the ringing silence.

Trembling with fear Harry crept to the door. He knew where he was now, remembered the inn and their dinner and his father sitting opposite him while they ate. But none of this made him feel better because now he also remembered the man with the pale yellow eyes who had stared at him downstairs. Whose stare had made Harry shiver.

The little sitting room was empty and Harry suppressed a sob. He'd never woken up alone like this before, not in a long time. Not since his daddy had come and fetched him.

Harry rubbed his arms and shivered again. He didn't like to remember the time before his daddy had come. He hardly thought about it at all any more. Only at night sometimes, when he woke up and he was all alone did the memories creep back.

Memories of shouting voices and the slam of the door and darkness.

"Daddy," he whispered, a tear squeezing from his eye. Harry wished he had Merlin to hold onto, but daddy had packed Merlin in their trunk and Harry was too afraid now to go back into that room, just as he was too afraid to go forward and search for his father.

Where was he? Had he gone back downstairs? Maybe he'd forgotten about Harry fast asleep in his bed.

Maybe he was gone?

Some part of Harry had always wondered when that would happen. Some part of him had always wondered if he'd be left alone again, hungry and frightened in the dark.

Eyes blurred from his tears Harry crouched down on the floor and began to sob.

"Daddy."

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Snape awoke with the realisation that he'd fallen asleep in the tub. With a muttered spell he reheated the water and groaned with pleasure as the chill left his limbs. So much for soothing his abused body. Now he had deep creases from the sides of the porcelain tub and his skin was as wrinkled as a shrivelfig.

He wondered idly what the time was and was just relaxing back against the curved sides of the tub when the back of his neck began to prickle. Straightening abruptly he bent his head and listened hard. Was that Harry calling him?

Snape climbed out of the tub and wrapped his robe firmly around his narrow waist, still straining his ears. Just how long had he been dozing? He pushed open the bathroom door and hurried out into the sitting room, stopping short in horror at the sight of Harry crouched by the bedroom door, head buried against his knees.

"Harry?" he exclaimed, spinning for the front door, wand in his hand. But the door was still tightly shut and his magical wards were clearly in place. Lowering his wand Snape turned back to his son, realising that the boy had not moved at the sound of his father's voice but was still crouching, trembling arms locked around his knees and covering his face.

"Harry, what is it? Are you hurt?" He crouched next to the boy, gently touching his bent head and curving a hand around one shaking shoulder. "Son?"

Harry was sniffling into his knees and Snape swiftly made up his mind, sitting back on the cold floor he lifted the curled up child and cuddled him against his chest, pained realisation flooding him.

"Couldn't you find me, Harry?" he murmured, feeling the boy's limbs trembling against his chest. He curved him closer and laid his cheek against the boy's jet black hair. "Were you frightened?"

But Harry was still silent and Snape could only hold him close and try to warm his chilled little form with the warmth of his own body.

"I was just in the bath, Harry, that's all. I wouldn't leave you, son, don't you know that yet?"

Harry shifted his head, but only to bury it in his father's throat.

"Oh, Harry," Snape sighed sadly. "When will you trust me?"

Eventually he stood and carried Harry back into the bedroom, leaning over the bed to try to lay him down. But Harry only clutched at him, moaning his distress.

"I'm not leaving you," Snape soothed, ignoring his damp robe and climbing into the bed, Harry still firmly attached to him. "Lay back, Harry. Daddy's here."

The clutching fingers slowly relaxed and Harry's limbs became lax as his head grew heavy against his father's shoulder.

But Snape knew it would be a long time before he would find any rest that night. He hadn't seen Harry so distressed since their very early days together and the boy had never maintained this dark silence for so long, even then. What was he thinking in that tousled little head? Was he remembering all the years his father had abandoned him before? Would he ever forget that time? Would those scars ever heal?

Would he ever forgive his father?

Snape could hold the little child close and try to sooth his fears and worries. He could make all the promises in the world and try to regain a lost trust with his very young son. But when Harry was older what questions would he ask then? Would there be forgiveness then, for Severus Snape?

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Snape awoke to Harry thrashing next to him and he automatically caught the flailing little limbs, curling his body over Harry's small form to comfort him.

"Harry," he murmured and the boy started awake, tear swollen eyes blinking in the soft lamplight.

"Uncle Vernon!" he gasped and now Snape jerked at the sound of that hated muggles name. He could never remember Harry ever speaking of him before. "Uncle Vernon!"

"He's not here, Harry," Snape said firmly, trying to catch the wildly darting eyes. Finally he released Harry's hand and caught his small pointed chin, turning it gently so that he could gaze into his son's eyes and convey the truth of his message. "You will never see that muggle again, do you hear me?"

"He said there's no such thing as magic," Harry gasped, his narrow chest heaving. "And the door went bang and it was dark!" His eyes finally focused on his father's face, filling with tears and overflowing. "It was dark, daddy! It was dark!"

Snape caught him up, crushing him against his chest, feeling tears fill his own eyes as Harry clutched at him, twining thin limbs around his torso.

"It was just a dream, son," he whispered, eyes stinging, burning.

"I called and called for you," Harry was muttering against his chest.

"And I came, Harry," Snape reminded him desperately. "I will always come. Please believe that, son. Daddy really needs you to believe that. I love you, Harry. I love you so much."

Harry sniffed and drew back a little, blinking his wet eyes and peering into his father's eyes. "Are you crying, daddy?" he whispered thickly. A little hand let go its hold and touched Snape's face, stroking clumsily at the wetness beneath his father's eyes. "Are you crying like me?"

"I'm sad, Harry," Snape said honestly, for the first time in his life not trying to hide his tears. How long had it been since he'd cried anyway?

He really hadn't thought he could any more.

"Uncle's gone?" Harry appealed and Snape nodded mutely. "It was just a bad dream," Harry sighed, laying his head back on his father's shoulder.

Snape ran trembling hands over Harry's narrow back, feeling the tension finally drain from him. His own heart still hurt in his chest, the memory of Harry's frightened words still ringing in his head.

Would Harry ever forgive him? Well why should he? Snape knew he would never forgive himself.

"I need to pee," Harry said prosaically and despite his grief Snape had to snort in amusement. He rested his wet face against his boy's head for another moment and then sat up stiffly.

"Come on then," he said, sitting Harry up and straightening the neck of his night gown. He looked into those slanted green eyes and tried to smile, just a little. "All right, Harry?"

Harry nodded, knuckling his eyes and yawning a little. "It was a horrid dream."

"I've had a few myself," Snape confided, lifting Harry to the floor and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Don't forget your slippers."

Harry pushed his feet into the slippers and reached for his glasses, shoving them on his nose. Then he reached trustingly for his father's hand and let himself be led to the bathroom.

"There's water still in the tub," he observed as he lifted his night gown and aimed for the toilet.

"I fell asleep in the bath," Snape told him, taking the opportunity to strip off the damp robe and wriggle into his own night shirt. Harry was washing his hands in the sink and Snape handed him a thin towel. "That's why I wasn't there when you awoke," he explained again, but Harry just nodded and held his hand out again.

Snape led him back to bed and they crawled back under the still warm covers.

Harry curled up against him and yawned, little pink tongue curling like a cat's.

"I love you too, daddy," he murmured. Then he was asleep.

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Dawn came while Snape still lay sleepless, but curiously his mind was fresh and clear, amazingly focused. It had been a hard night and a long one.

But now it was morning, and the sun was warming the room around them, and his son was sleeping by his side.

Back and forth in the darkest hours before the dawn Snape had wrestled with his demons of the past. Not just those dealing with Harry, but further back, playing and replaying all those small mistakes that had led to larger ones, all the battles, real and imagined, all those steps that had led him on the path to this place. It had been quite exhausting.

But now it was morning, and the sun was warming the room around them, and his son was sleeping by his side.

For years Snape had thought he was living one day at a time, but with the clarity of hindsight he knew he'd been fooling himself. He'd actually been living those same days over and over again, caught in the past, that endless loop replayed. No forgiveness for those who had let him down all his life. No forgiveness for his own costly mistakes. No forgiveness even for Harry's mother, who had known enough to flatter and cajole him into giving her what she wanted, but not enough to know how offensive her automatic assumption that he would never want a child of his own had been.

But now it was morning, and the sun was warming the room around them, and his son was sleeping by his side.

And she was dead. And he was dead. And they were dead.

And now despite the darkness of the night before it was a bright sunny morning. And despite the tears of the night before there would be smiles on Harry's face again and Harry's endless well of love and forgiveness would be drawn upon once more.

And if one day it proved that well had run dry... If as he grew older Harry found he could not forgive so readily...

Well, then, Snape would face it when and if it came.

The endless loop must be broken, even if he didn't deserve and hadn't earned the right to be freed from its prison. Because Harry deserved it, and Harry needed him to be strong. Right now, Harry needed him.

And as for those far away tomorrows, well, they were as distant as that far away past.

Now Snape and Harry really would live one day at a time.

Beside him his son stirred, and Harry opened his eyes with a yawn, wrinkling his nose and snuffling into his father's side.

"I'm hungry," he said automatically, then he looked around the room and took it all in. He blinked his almond eyes and then turned a look on Snape, smiling slowly.

"Morning, daddy."

And there was that forgiveness, that sunshine that warmed Snape and melted away yet another layer of the shell that had encased and protected him for so long. Funny how at first he hadn't even noticed it happening but that now he could feel it as clear as day.

One day at a time.

"Good morning, Harry."

888

Harry clung to Merlin through breakfast, only putting him down long enough to let his father help him get dressed. He was a little subdued, but still managed to smile when he asked whether they would see dragons that day.

"I hope so, Harry," Snape said, packing the last of their belongings in the trunk. "We'll be at the inn where we're staying by lunch time." He turned and studied Harry, sitting on the edge of the bed with Merlin under his chin. Snape held out a hand. "I need to pack your doll, Harry."

Small hands clutched the soft bodied doll closer and Harry mutely shook his head.

Snape sighed. He was worried that this was a bad sign, the child hadn't clung to his doll since their early days together. "Harry, you don't want to have to carry him all the way to Rumania, do you?"

Harry set his chin stubbornly and nodded his head. "You carry me," he pointed out.

"What if you drop him?"

The chin jutted even further. "You don't drop me."

Snape sighed, reining in his patience. Another time he would insist, but not this morning. There were faint blue shadows under Harry's eyes, and the long little fingers that clung to his doll were trembling.

So he made allowances.

Pulling out his wand he held it aloft. "How's this then?" With a wave a collection of thin straps and buckled whipped into place and Merlin was bound snugly against Harry's chest.

Harry started as the straps flew into place, looking astonished for a moment. Then he carefully lifted both hands, beginning to smile again as Merlin stayed firmly in place.

"I'm carrying him just like you carry me!" he exclaimed in delight. He jumped from the bed and zoomed around the room, pretending he was riding a broomstick. "Look!"

Snape decided making allowances could be worth it once in a while. "That should keep him safe," he acknowledged.

Harry zoomed up to him and caught his hand. "Like you keep me safe, daddy?"

Snape caught his son up in his arms and perched him on his hip. "Just so," he said firmly. "All right, Harry?"

Harry wrapped one arm around his doll and another around his father's neck. "All right, daddy."


	11. Chapter 11

Harry's eyes widened in horror as he stared at his father.

"No way!" he said emphatically. "I'm not wearing that!"

Snape looked down at the outfit he was holding up for his son's perusal. He supposed he should have anticipated this reaction. "What's wrong with it?"

"It's... girly!" Harry exclaimed. "It's got frilly bits on it!"

Snape lowered the little black velvet suit and fingered the white lace collar. "This is a perfectly acceptable suit for a boy your age, Harry. In fact I thought it was very fine."

"But, daddy," Harry whined. "Why can't I just wear my jeans?"

Snape surveyed Harry's array of clothes with a turned up nose. The boy had plenty of robes and the fine cloak they'd purchased their first day together, but for casual wear he invariably chose the old baggy trousers and violently coloured shirt he'd been wearing the day his father fetched him from the muggles house. Snape couldn't understand it.

"Harry I've made allowances for you wearing those disgusting old garments for your rough and tumble play with Neville. But we are on holiday now and you will be mixing with other folk. Magical folk. I will not introduce you as my son while you are dressed as some raggedy... hedge warlock!"

Harry looked interested. "What's a warlock? Do they live in hedges? Daddy?"

Snape sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. After two days of travel and his lack of sleep the night before all he wanted to do was rest the afternoon away and have an early dinner. But he had promised Harry dragons and that meant mixing with those holiday makers gathered here to do the same thing.

"Harry," he began patiently. "It's very cold out there, do you understand? This suit isn't just smart enough to mix with other folk, it will also keep you warm. And you'll be wearing your cloak over it."

Harry set his jaw mutinously. "No!"

"Fine!" Snape tossed the suit back into the chest. "It seems a shame to have come all this way without seeing dragons. But if you don't want to dress to go out..."

"Daddy!" Harry wailed but Snape would not be budged. There were times he indulged the boy shamelessly, quite often driven by guilt if nothing else. But there were also times he would not give in. Harry must learn to do what he was told.

Snape could also be stubborn. In fact the child had probably inherited the trait from him, along with the black frown and out thrust chin. "The group is leaving in ten minutes, Harry."

"Bugger," Harry muttered, kicking the trunk with his stockinged foot.

"Harry Potter!" Snape said, scandalised. "Where did you hear such language?"

Harry's temper died quickly and he shuffled his feet, then bent to rub at his toe. "Um, I don't 'member," he confessed. Then he looked up, face woebegone. "I hurt my foot."

"Serves you right for indulging in bad temper," his father said hardly. "Really, Harry, I don't know. If I find out you heard that word from those Weasley hooligans..."

"I better get dressed," Harry said hurriedly, pulling the hated suit out of the chest and surveying it with a frown. "How do I put it on?"

Snape dropped the subject, experienced enough at fatherhood by this time to know that if he made too big a deal of it then from here on the word would become Harry's favourite.

And he'd thought Harry constantly saying 'pants' would drive him crazy.

The velvet suit involved buttoned cuffs around Harry's knees and a whole line of little silver buttons up the front. With his long white stockings and little black boots Snape thought Harry looked fine. He gently took narrow shoulders in his hands and turned the boy to the mirror.

"Now you look like a young wizard, Harry."

The boy surveyed himself doubtfully. "Why do young wizards have frilly collars?" he said grumpily. "And robes that look like dresses?"

Snape straightened and patted the boy's tousled head. "You must stop thinking like a muggle, Harry. They change the manner of their dress as often as they change their foolish minds. In the magical world we have more sense. Now put your cloak and hat on. It's time to go."

888

"Welcome, welcome!" the magically amplified voice boomed. There were a dozen or so holiday makers standing on the fret worked wooden landing and Snape surveyed them sourly. They were exactly what he had pictured and dreaded when booking their time at Dragon Inn. Bespectacled researchers in their ridiculous leather coats and supposedly fireproof tin hats. Dragon fanatics wearing shiny dragon skin coats and boots, annoyingly flapping wings magically attached to their backs.

And the inevitable harassed parents, herding broods of misbehaved children into line and attempting to stop them flinging themselves to their grisly deaths over the wooden balcony railing.

Snape proudly surveyed Harry standing quietly by his side, taking everything in. How well behaved his boy seemed compared to those hooligans! Snape vowed in future to be more patient with his son who was obviously a model of virtue next to most young wizards his age.

"Please listen up, people, if you want to survive the afternoon with your limbs intact!" the guide called over the chatter of the group and slowly they quieted. "Thank you. Now this afternoon will be our short introductory tour, taking in the eastern range and scenic flight over the roosts along the Drachen Mountain. After that we'll return for a tour of our amazing museum and a quick perusal of our gift shop. If you haven't already signed up for tomorrows full day tour, people, I'd do so now."

"Are we flying on a broom again?" Harry asked his father as they followed the guide along the balcony. Then he stopped in amazement as the people around them began sitting down on a brilliantly patterned carpet at their feet.

"Our trip today will be by flying carpet," the guide explained, standing at the head of the rather threadbare rug and facing them. "Take your seats now, people, and don't worry about falling off." His brown face creased in a smile. "Plenty of charms in place to stop that happening."

"A flying carpet?" Harry said doubtfully. "How does a carpet fly?"

"How does a broom fly?" Snape said reasonably, taking a seat at the back and narrowly avoiding being slapped in the face by another tourist's fake wing as it folded. "It's just magic, Harry."

Still looking a trifle unsure Harry sat back in his father's lap, not even protesting as the straps flew into place and buckled him close. Around him families were doing the same with their own children as with a few muttered words from their guide the carpet lifted and hovered stiffly a few inches above the floor.

"Keep your hands and feet inside the carpet," the guide suggested. "We haven't lost a passenger in months, people, and I'd like to keep it that way! Off we go!"

"Months?" Snape muttered, but it was too late to change his mind, the carpet was up and away, leaving the old wooden inn perched on the side of the mountain behind.

"Weeee!" Harry exclaimed and around him children erupted into cheers as adults paled and closed their eyes.

Snape discovered something on that short journey. He really really hated flying carpets. At least when someone else was in control. He found he didn't like not knowing who had bespelled this carpet and when. He didn't like not knowing exactly what charms were cast on it to keep passengers from falling. And he really really didn't like the idea that all that was between them and that last long drop to the ground below was a half an inch of threadbare carpet.

On his own he could apparate to safety if anything went wrong, but with Harry in his arms...

Snape spent the short journey reciting every levitation and floating spell he knew, eyes firmly shut. In his lap Harry was exclaiming and pointing out snow covered mountains and interesting flocks of birds, but Snape was only counting seconds and trying to remember whether the word in the spell was amphithere or amphitheros.

Fortunately at this point they alighted on the top of a mountain and Snape at last felt the reassurance of firm ground beneath him again.

"Hurry, daddy," Harry urged, tugging at his straps, but Snape kept his arms around the boy and perched him on his hip as he unsteadily stood and stepped off the rug. He wasn't letting go of Harry until they were back at the inn. Or possibly until they were back in England.

Harry was too preoccupied to notice, the crowd had all moved to a wooden railing that perched on the side of the mountain, looking out at an astounding vista. Mountains surrounded them, some towering over them covered with snow, some mere crags beneath then, wreathed in mist. It was an awesome enough spectacle that Snape actually felt himself relaxing and taking a deep lung full of good clean air.

"You see before you," the guide said in practised tones. "The perfect terrain for viewing dragons. Careful observation will reveal signs all around you. For example..."

He pointed out holes in the cliff faces, barely visible in the mist. Patches of trees on nearby mountains that looked scorched and and burnt. Even narrow ways he claimed were tracks were dragons hunted their primary sources of food, mountain sheep and goats.

"Where are the dragons?" Harry whispered impatiently, leaning against his father's shoulder. "I can't see any!"

Several others in the crowd were also muttering but the guide was already grinning and peering into the distance.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said proudly. "I present you with Draco Occidentalis Magnus. The common European dragon."

Snape tightened his hold as Harry's whole body stiffened in excitement. Approaching them at a leisurely scull was the mighty four legged dragon, the beating of its wings like snapping sails in the mountain's quiet air. Dark green with the classic arrowhead tail whipping behind it, the dragon soared to a nearby peak where it alighted and perched majestically.

The guide was happily pointing out various features but Snape tuned out the drone about thick spines and fanged teeth. All his attention was focused on Harry as the boy stared with wide eyes, his skin flushed with excitement, his hands gripping his father like claws.

"A really and truly dragon," he was murmuring.

Snape patted his back, reflecting that this had been worth the truly horrible journey to get here.

Harry was happy.

888

The museum might have seemed an anticlimax after the dragon sighting, but Harry was on a high, so excited he was stuttering as he chattered about all they had seen. The tour tomorrow promised many more species of dragon and a glimpse into a nesting cavern, and Snape was resigned to more torturous carpet flying.

"What does this say?" Harry asked curiously, stopping by a beautifully illustrated sign, comparing the height of an average wizard with various species of dragon.

"The somewhat perilous art of drogonmetricity," Snape read. "Or dragon measurement - has few living exponents." He stifled a snigger. "I'll bet."

They marvelled at the Dr Flameaway heat tested dragon protection hats on display, along with the famous Draco Whistles responsible, it claimed, for the great dragon disasters of the middle ages. Finally it was dinner time and Snape could rest his aching bones and take a break from dragon chatter while Harry refuelled himself.

"You remember that playground we saw?" Harry said, polishing off his apple pie.

Snape glanced outside. "It's getting late, Harry. Aren't you tired?"

"Uh uh," Harry denied. "Just five minutes, daddy? Please?"

"Don't wheedle, Harry," Snape ordered automatically. All the same, it might not be a bad idea to rid the boy of some of this excitement before bed time. Otherwise it would be a long hard struggle getting him to sleep. "Five minutes then. But mind! You're not to argue when I say it's time to come in."

"Yes, daddy," Harry said obediently.

"And remember to keep your hat on," Snape continued. "And don't tell anyone your name."

888

A playground was set out below the inn, already swarming with children. A gigantic dragon sculpture boasted a dozen children scrambling up its plated steps and disappearing behind out spread wings. A moment later the children appeared from the dragon's roaring mouth, sliding down the tongue of flame with a squeal.

A round-about revolved slowly, dragons and unicorns and various other creatures bobbing slowly up and down, enthusiastically spurred on by little witches and wizards on their backs. The dragons squirmed and the unicorns neighed and tossed their silvery heads.

"Oooh," Harry breathed.

Seeing some welcome seats nearby Snape gladly set his sights on it, but he caught Harry firmly between his hands before he could dart away and crouched in front of him, ostensibly straightening his cap and unfastening his cloak.

"Remember what I told you, Harry," he said quietly. "Keep your hat on. And no unnecessary chattering."

"Yes, daddy," Harry agreed eagerly, squirming to get free. Folding the cloak over his arm Snape straightened as the boy ran to the enclosed area, heading straight for the dragon.

The seats were half full and Snape chose a position where he could keep a firm eye on Harry without having to make conversation with anyone else. He had barely relaxed into place when Harry came running back over.

"Daddy!" he said breathlessly, skimming to a stop. "A girl asked me my name! Can I tell her?"

"Just your first name," Snape allowed. Harry already had a smudge down one cheek but before Snape could wipe it away Harry had turned on his heel and was gone, little legs pumping as he raced back to the playground. A small girl was waiting to climb the giant dragon and he joined her. Harry began waving his arms enthusiastically and Snape recognised his dragon description. He hoped Harry's new friend was prepared for a blow by blow account of the afternoon.

Discreetly he snapped a few more pictures for Harry's collection before stowing the camera back under Harry's cloak. The last thing he wanted was to appear as another of these brainless doting parents, snapping reel after reel of their deadly dull offspring to bore everyone they knew back home with their holiday snaps.

All the same he'd taken some rather good shots today already.

Harry and his new friend disappeared into the dragon's head and Snape relaxed back on the bench, again feeling the weary ache of his disturbed night. After a few hours of clinginess this morning Harry seemed back to normal again, buoyed by the long awaited sight of dragons.

Snape couldn't help but wonder about the coming night. Would it bring more nightmares?

"Boiled sveet?"

Snape stared cross eyed at the bag shoved into his face, then focused past it to the rather large woman grinning toothily at him.

"Excuse me?"

The woman pushed the paper bag back into her already over stuffed hand bag and sat down comfortably on a nearby bench.

"Or a sandvich?" she offered, rummaging back in the bag. "It's livervurst."

Equal parts bemused and revolted Snape shook his head, wondering what he had done to deserve these offers.

"That's my Lottie," she said, nodding over her head to the blond pigtailed girl now revolving slowly on the back of a unicorn as Harry clung to a dragon's back. "I saw her playing mit your boy so I thought I'd join you." She widened her blue eyes at him, plump pink cheeks creasing. "Is your vife mit you?"

Completely unused to being approached by strangers Snape foolishly shook his head, only realising as the witch smiled and fluttered her eye lashes at him that he had made a mistake.

"Ve are alone too, Lottie and me," she sighed, tucking her bright woollen shawl around her shoulders as a cool breeze ruffled the trees around them. "Brr, these mountains nights are cool, yes?"

Seizing his chance Snape stood, clutching Harry's cloak and camera before him like a shield. "I should get my, er, son in before it gets too much colder," he said, trying to catch Harry's eye.

The witch stood too, collecting up her bags and parcels. "Vhat a good idea!" she agreed. "There's a nice varm fireplace inside, and the liebchen would like some hot cocoa, I'm sure." She took a step closer and smiled coquettishly, scarf slipping from her head to reveal hair as golden as her daughters plaited around her head. "And something stronger for the parents, yes?"

Snape was a man who felt himself well suited to any occasion that arose in life, but he sensed he was out of his depth now. He just wasn't used to this - people coming up out of the blue and being friendly and flirting and fluttering long blonde eyelashes at him...

"I'm Yetta, by the way," the witch said with another warm smile, taking a perilous step closer.

Snape opened his mouth but fortunately Harry chose that moment to come running up with his new friend by his side.

"Daddy!" he said indignantly. "Lottie says I have to play house with her and hold the baby! I don't want to hold the baby!"

"How sveet!" Yetta exclaimed as her daughter ran up and cuddled into her side. "And vhat a little cutie! Vhat's his name?"

Harry was leaning against him surveying the newcomer curiously and Snape breathed a sigh of relief. He felt as if he had just had a narrow escape, although at the moment he wasn't even sure he hadn't been misreading the whole situation. Things like this just didn't happen to him.

"Time to go, Harry," he said firmly, keeping his gaze on the boy's face as Harry automatically opened his mouth to object. It enabled him to raise an eyebrow and stop Harry's objections cold, but also kept from looking at the strange witch who'd seemed to think that just because he had a child she had some kind of excuse to make a connection with him.

"Yes, daddy," Harry said obediently.

"But vhat about our cocoa?" the witch was saying in disappointed tones.

"You didn't hold the baby, Harry," Lottie said peevishly. She produced a doll and thrust it forward and Harry backed away as if she was presenting him with a live snake.

"Perhaps tomorrow," Snape promised vaguely, turning Harry and heading for the hotel. Night was beginning to set in and parents and children were gathering their belongings and trooping up the cinder path.

"Girls are weird," Harry said from under his arm and Snape found himself nodding firm agreement with his nearly six year old son.

888

Before the holiday was over Snape revised his opinions somewhat. Everyone was weird when you were a parent. Having a child by your side seemed to make people think you would welcome any opinion that they had to offer. Suddenly you had joined some exclusive club with secret signals like eye rolls and shrugs when offspring misbehaved or began annoying everyone in ear shot.

Snape generally found that his trademark rudeness soon saw most people off.

Thankfully the blond witch Yetta took the hint and set her sights somewhat higher. By the time they settled onto the carpet for the next day's tour she was firmly attached to a wizard in a towering purple turban who looked like he didn't know what had hit him.

Tolerating the experience was made easier when it became clear that Harry had recovered from his fright of the first night. Excitement and activity occupied and wore him out and as expected his sunny personality reasserted itself pretty quickly.

All the same, three days of dragons and company later Snape was counting their last few hours before he and Harry could shake the dust of this mountain inn from their heels and climb back on board their broom for home.

Home!

To think he'd once hated Hogwarts! Now he could hardly wait for the peace and quiet of their cosy little quarters. He was looking forward to the last weeks of the holidays without any students around as well, to long quiet halls and empty dungeons.

"Lottie's going home tomorrow same as us," Harry said conversationally after their last night's dinner, as they sat in their room in front of a crackling fire sipping cocoa.

"Mmm," Snape said noncommittally.

"Girls sure like dolls and things, don't they daddy?"

"Merlin's a doll," Snape pointed out, nodding to the porcelain faced toy that sat next to them on the comfy couch and even had its own mug on its lap, although Snape refused to actually pour any actual cocoa into it.

"He's not a doll!" Harry said in outraged tones. "He's a, um..."

"Figurine?" Snape supplied helpfully.

"Yeah," Harry agreed gratefully. "Like Batman and stuff."

"If you say so." Snape sipped his brew. "You seemed to enjoy her company in the playground today."

Harry shrugged and rolled his eyes long sufferingly. "She was okay once I nursed her stupid doll," he huffed. "She tried to kiss me," he confided and Snape's eyebrows rose of their own accord. Then he blinked.

"Kiss you?" he managed.

"She said I was the daddy and she was the mummy and then she tried to kiss me." Harry drained his cocoa and licked his lips. "Girls are boring," he pronounced.

"Perhaps one day you'll change your mind," his father murmured, hoping that day would be in the far distant future.

Harry shook his head emphatically. "Uh uh. When can I see how the photos come out?"

"I told you, Harry. We'll develop them when we get home."

Harry leaned against his father's arm and looked thoughtful. "It'll be nice to be home, won't it, daddy?"

Snape glanced down at the little tousled head resting against him. "Have you enjoyed the holiday, Harry?" he couldn't help but ask, memories of their first night away from home still haunting him.

But Harry's smile was sunny as he looked up and beamed. "The best!" he exclaimed. "I saw all those dragons and I have the flute for Neville and Mr Lupin and Professor Dumbledore will love the dragon lollies!"

Relieved at the candid answer Snape inclined his head. "How could they not?"

"And soon it will be my birthday," Harry reminded his father. "And Neville's too." The boy fiddled with the spoon and empty mug on his lap. "Daddy?"

Recognising Harry's thoughtful tone Snape shot him a curious glance.

"Yes?"

"When Lottie asked me my name..."

Snape reached out a gentle hand and stilled Harry's fussing fingers.

"Yes, Harry?"

"She wanted to know my whole name," Harry confessed softly. His worried frown tugged at Snape's guilt strings. What had he been thinking, burdening Harry with the responsibility of keeping his identity secret? The lad didn't even understand why it was necessary.

He laid his mug on the table by the couch and sat Harry's empty mug beside it. "It's all right, Harry," he said quietly, now wrapping a comforting arm about the boy's shoulders. "It's all right if you told her your name."

Harry bit his lip. "I didn't," he mumbled and Snape frowned.

"You didn't?"

"I told her my name was Harry Snape," the boy confessed, then looked up at his father with wide distressed eyes.

Snape was nonplussed. Harry hadn't mentioned the subject of their names since their one and only discussion about it months before.

"Sorry, daddy," Harry was saying miserably and Snape realised he had to set the boy's mind at rest.

"It's still all right, Harry," he said as firmly as he could. And when Harry just gazed at him he squeezed a narrow shoulder and nodded. "Really, it's all right."

"You're not mad?"

"No, I'm not mad." Snape studied the child's relieved expression warily. "Harry, I thought we discussed this? Does it bother you that we have different names?"

"Uh uh." Harry shook his head, his slanted green eyes unguarded and sincere.

Relieved himself at the candid honesty in those startling eyes Snape breathed a small sigh. "Then why did you tell your little friend your name was Harry Snape?"

Harry shrugged. "You said not to tell anyone I was Harry Potter and I thought..." The boy broke off. "Well," he continued more slowly. "I thought I could be Harry Snape too. Like a disguise."

"A disguise," Snape repeated.

"Just when we're on holidays and stuff." Harry studied him wide eyed. "Can I have more cocoa?"

"No, Harry, it's nearly your bed time."

"I'm not sleepy," Harry insisted.

"The quicker we go to bed the quicker we'll be flying home tomorrow," Snape reminded him. Harry shrugged and cuddled closer again and Snape let the subject drop, staring into the flickering flames of the fire.

So was that all it had been, a child's fancy? Or was there more to it than that? Did their different names really bother Harry?

This was something that would need a lot more thought.

888

It was midnight at Hogwarts and Harry was fast asleep back in his own bed when Snape carried the small box to the table and sat down. With a quiet word he lit the lamp and then he laid everything out, his plan clear in his mind. He worked for half an hour, carefully pasting and writing and then finally he closed the book and surveyed the front cover.

Picking up the pen he wrote with his best hand.

Harry's First Holiday.

Then shaking his head over his own foolish sentimentality he transfigured the album so it looked like a text book and slipped it into his bookshelf.


	12. Chapter 12

Snape's bed shook as if an earthquake was shifting the very towers of Hogwarts itself, but the bed's owner and occupant knew better. He cracked one eye open and cast a jaded glance on his son and heir.

"Harry," he managed thickly. "Why are you bouncing on my bed?"

"It's holidays!" Harry sang. "Time to get up!"

"Ugh." Snape rolled and buried his head in his pillow, hoping this would all turn out to be some ill dream, but to no avail. Now that he was singing Harry decided to continue, segueing into a chorus of some ditty doubtless imparted by Neville via his Great Uncle Algy. By the time he reached the chorus Snape gave up on his idea of a lie in and turned over onto his back, squinting at the very early morning sunlight invading his bedroom via minute chinks in the curtains.

"Four more weeks," he groaned.

"Hurrah!" Harry cheered, then he was tossing himself down and snuggling into his father's arm.

"You're a noisy nuisance," Snape grumbled. But he lifted his arm and let Harry snuggle closer.

"But it's breakfast time," Harry pointed out reasonably. "Aren't you hungry?"

"Aren't you sleepy?" Snape returned seriously, peering into almond shaped eyes. "Where do you get your energy?"

Harry tilted his head and considered the question. "Sausages?" he ventured.

Snape sighed. "Serves me right for asking." He sat up, shaking Harry off and stretching irritably. "Is breakfast here yet? Tell me there's tea."

"I can pour it!" Harry volunteered eagerly, bouncing clean off the bed.

"No!" Snape said hastily. "Not unless you want to be put back to bed for the day."

"I'm nearly six you know," Harry reminded him crossly.

Snape reached out and caught the nearly six year old by the waist and lifted him like a sack of potatoes. "Are you sure?" he said doubtfully as Harry squealed with pleasure and kicked his legs. "You don't feel like a nearly six year old."

"I am!" Harry crowed, wriggling and giggling.

Snape plonked him back down and flexed his long fingers, merely threatening to tickle heaving ribs. Without so much as a touch Harry folded like a paper fan, almost breathless with laughter now. "An almost six year old would know what happens to boys who run around without their slippers on," he warned and Harry slipped like an eel through his fathers hands and nipped away.

"I'm getting them!" he called over his shoulder. Then he stopped in the doorway, clinging to the jamb with long fingers. "I hear the owl post!"

"Slippers first!" Snape reminded him, then subsided back into a hunched yawn. "Four more weeks," he muttered again, before resigning himself to the inevitable and looking for his own slippers.

888

The school was blessedly quiet as they strolled down long halls to the side door, but Harry made up for it with his chatter. They were going out to look for wild plants to use in potions and they were each armed with a basket and scissors, small and extremely blunt ones in Harry's case. Lupin was lounging against the balustrade at the top of the stairs and Snape's footsteps hardly faltered as he spotted the tutor straightening to greet them.

"Harry!" he called, waving, and Harry's face lit up with pleasure.

"Mr Lupin! Aren't you on holidays?"

"I'll have my fortnight by the sea in August," Lupin said with a smile. "And how were your dragons?"

888

"Sorry you asked yet?" Snape murmured half an hour later as Harry finally wound down and took a breath. By now they were sitting on the low brick wall overlooking the standing stones.

Lupin smothered a chuckle. "It sounds like you had a wonderful time," he said sincerely. "I can't wait to see your pictures."

"We're going to make an album, aren't we, daddy?" Harry burbled. "And I forgot, Mr Lupin, I bought you a present!"

"Another one?" Lupin grinned. "I've never had so many presents in my life! You're quite spoiling me, Harry."

Harry smiled kindly and patted his tutor's arm. "I never had many presents before either," he revealed. "But now I've got really good ones."

Lupin's face softened and he covered Harry's small grubby hand with his own. "It's the thought that counts," he said softly. "I'm just glad you were thinking of me."

Harry cocked his head and considered this axiom for a moment, idly swinging his little legs. Snape decided he'd borne all he could of the tutor's company for the day and stood up briskly.

"Time to collect these plants, Harry."

Harry scrambled down and picked up his small basket, slinging it professionally over his arm. "We're looking for wild plants," he told Lupin seriously. "And soon we're going to come out at night with lamps and everything, to get plants that can only be picked under the moon." He shivered with pleasure. "It will be fun and creepy. Want to come along?"

"Mr Lupin doesn't like the moonlight, Harry," Snape couldn't resist prodding, but other than a wry look the werewolf wasn't biting.

"We'll see," he said noncommittally. "I saw some dandelions over there, Harry. Do you see them?"

Harry looked for the little nodding yellow flowers and rushed over. "Here they are!" he called. "Can I cut them?"

"Just the leaves," Snape told him, then turned a glance on Lupin. "You may go," he dismissed.

"Yes, master," Lupin drawled, heaving himself to his feet and stretching. His face looked a little drawn, his eyes tired. Snape turned to Harry then glanced back over his shoulder. Lupin was still standing there, gazing after Harry as well.

"Still here?" Snape said politely.

"I suppose it's out of the question," Lupin said tentatively. "I'm sure you'll say no..."

"Then why ask?"

"I just thought I might take Harry for some walks now and then. Or a swim one afternoon." Lupin firmed his jaw. "I know what you're going to say-"

"When?" Snape barked.

Lupin broke off, looking confused. "What?"

Snape sighed. "It's a simple enough question, Lupin. When do you want him?"

"I, er, you don't mind?"

"I hand him over to your care every day during term time," Snape reminded him disdainfully. "It would be a trifle hypocritical of me to deprive you of his company in the holidays, wouldn't it?"

Lupin's confused look faded into comprehension and he finally snickered. "Holidays getting a bit much for you, Severus?"

Snape shrugged eloquently. "If you've changed your mind, Lupin, just say so."

Lupin was still chuckling but he shook his head. "Not at all. I'd like to spend some time with him. Neville too when he comes back."

Snape shrugged again, as if the matter were of no consequence. "Fine," he said carelessly. "Send me a message when you're up to it." He walked a few paces then stopped, keeping his back to Lupin. "About swimming... Harry doesn't know how." He paused, about to frame a request and finding himself unequal to the task. He really couldn't bring himself to ask a favour.

There was a moments silence, then Lupin spoke tentatively. "I could teach him, if you like."

"If you like," Snape repeated, then strode away. Harry had neatly snipped a dozen of the softly scratchy leaves and displayed them proudly to his father, who made a point of examining them carefully and not looking back up until Lupin had walked away.

888

Dumbledore returned from his own brief time away and dropped in for tea that evening. He gratefully accepted the dragon shaped sweets Harry had selected for him and dutifully exclaimed at the wonderful photographs that Harry proudly showed him. Then he produced a gift of his own, a large creamy pastry in a box. Ever a sweet tooth, Harry's eyes lit up at the sight.

"It's my especial favourite," Dumbledore confided with a twinkle, cutting it into slices and laying a large piece on a tea plate for the child. "You'd be amazed at how far I go to buy some."

"Thank you," Harry said, before enthusiastically applying his fork to the confection.

"Have you seen the Daily Prophet today, Severus?" the headmaster murmured quietly as he laid a more modest slice on Snape's plate.

"Not yet," Snape said, shooting a glance to his mail and newspaper still laying unopened by the hearth. "Harry was in a rather boisterous mood this morning and I was saving it until I had a quiet moment."

Dumbledore cast a fond glance on Harry's face, now remarkably sporting jam and cream from ear to ear. "I suspect such moments are few and far between," he observed. "Never mind, I bought the front page to show you." He produced a folded sheet from his robe and Snape took it, dread tightening his chest.

His fears proved well founded as he gazed at the banner headline.

HARRY POTTER RUMOURS CONFIRMED! they shrieked, and underneath a large grainy photograph that Snape realised was himself. Warmly wrapped against the cold he stood by a wooden railing, gazing into the distance. Captured in profile he was instantly recognisable, as was his son perched on his hip and gesturing excitedly away out of shot. There were other shifting forms around them but the father and son were the obvious focus of the shot.

"I didn't even see anyone take it," Snape said numbly, still gazing at the picture.

"No doubt there were many holiday makers all snapping away," Dumbledore said sympathetically. "Perhaps you should read the story."

 _The Boy-Who-Lived sighted in Europe!_ the headline just below the photograph proclaimed. The reporter was Claude Foote.

_The Daily Prophet can now exclusively confirm that Harry Potter, famed hero and tragic figure of the wizarding world is indeed at large. Tirelessly chasing down the wild rumours that have been circulating for months, this reporter has revealed the incredible truth. Harry Potter is indeed living at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry under the care of a teacher who claims to be the famous hero's father!_

_Severus Snape, who will shortly take up a position as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at the school has made these wild claims to none other than Albus Dumbledore himself, headmaster of the school and Supreme Mugwamp of the Wizengamut. When sought Professor Dumbledore declined to comment on this fantastic story._

_Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, insists there is nothing untoward in the claim. 'The Ministry is and always has been taking care of Harry Potter,' he said late last night. 'His living arrangements are nobody's business but ours.'_

_The Daily Prophet invites the views of its readers as to whether this outrageous claim has any merit._

Snape flicked his glance from the page to the slice of cake on the plate in front of him, feeling his stomach turn at the nauseating sight of cream and jammy filling. He pushed the plate away with a shudder and handed the clipping back to Dumbledore.

"How typical of the Prophet," he sneered. "Maybe one fact in ten correct. Did they ask you for an interview?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "They might have tried but I was beyond their reach."

Harry was finishing his pastry, licking his lips and the fork with pleasure. Snape automatically picked up a napkin and passed it over and the boy accepted it and wiped his face, spreading the sticky substance even further.

"Go wash your hands and face," Snape ordered abruptly.

"Can't I have any more?" Harry asked plaintively.

Snape's voice was silky soft. "Do I have to tell you twice?"

Harry frowned curiously at the sibilant tone but obediently climbed off his chair and trotted to the bathroom. Snape rubbed at the bridge of his nose with fingers he was pleased to note were steady as usual.

"How will this effect us?" he asked the headmaster.

"Other than have you snapping at your son?" Dumbledore said mildly and Snape shot a seething glance at him. "Not at all, that I can see. After all we've hardly made a secret of Harry's presence here these last months. I doubt there's a child in the school who hasn't written home to tell their families about little Harry Potter coming to live here." He tilted his head and considered for a moment. "At least a child who's parents aren't muggles of course. They probably wouldn't care much."

"You've been keeping it out of the papers, haven't you?" Snape realised but Dumbledore shook his head firmly.

"It would never have occurred to me to do so," he said, voice and eyes candid. "I find banking a fire only makes it burn all the more fiercely when it at last breaks loose. No, I suspect Cornelius Fudge's hand behind this. He likes to keep a firm hold on the media and that's the part that worries me now."

"Because now it suits him for some reason to make this news public? But why? Why now?"

Dumbledore shook his snowy white head again. "It's possible the Prophet simply refused to sit on the story any longer. My guess is that a lot of people have been asking questions these last few months. These rumours the paper refers to."

"Do you believe that? Or do you think Fudge has an agenda of his own?" Snape asked desperately, lowering his voice as Harry rushed past them and into his bedroom.

"Fudge always has an agenda," Dumbledore said with a wry smile.

Snape could only shake his head, too worried to see any humour in the situation.

"Severus," the headmaster said quietly. "Trust me on this. Right here and right now there is no benefit to Fudge to try to take Harry away from us. Whatever seeds he is sowing for the future I do not believe your boy is in any danger from the Ministry."

"Right now," Snape qualified. "Here and now."

Dumbledore's wise old eyes were sober. "Here and now is all I can speak for, I'm afraid."

There were a dozen more fears and questions on Snape's lips but at that moment Harry rushed back in, at top speed as usual.

"I forgot to show you the flute I bought Neville for his birthday!" Harry enthused. He paused and gave his father an uncertain look and Snape nodded at him, regretting his harsh manner earlier. The headmaster was right, snapping at Harry wouldn't help. None of this was his fault.

"It's a fine flute," Dumbledore approved, handling the carved wooden instrument with its long dragon shape carefully. "I'm sure Neville will love it. Do you know, I believe his mother used to play a flute, long ago."

"Uh huh," Harry confirmed, taking the flute back and wrapping it once more in the soft tissue paper. "And she used to sing too. Did you know her, Professor?"

Dumbledore smoothed an unruly lock from Harry's brow, brushing against the pale red scar with long sensitive fingers. "I did," he revealed, a little sadly. "I remember her very well indeed, Harry." His wise eyes looked impossibly far away for a long moment. "I remember them all." Then he shook himself a little and smiled into Harry's eyes. "And what are you hoping for, young man, for your birthday?"

888

"But why can't you teach me how to swim, daddy?" Harry wondered.

Snape pulled out a pair of shorts and surveyed them critically. "These will do," he muttered before glancing back at Harry. "Because Mr Lupin is your teacher, Harry. I'm sure he'll be just as good at teaching you to swim as he is at all your other lessons. Now put these on."

Harry obediently lifted a leg and let his father help him on with the shorts, steadying himself with one hand on Snape's shoulder.

"But this isn't a bathing suit," Harry pointed out. "These are just shorts."

"They'll do for swimming. Put your robes and shoes on for the walk down to the lake."

But Harry had crossed to the mirror and was frowning at himself. "A bathing suit ought to be coloured," he said doubtfully, tugging at the baggy legs of the shorts. "Or shiny."

"Coloured?" Snape mused. He thought about it for a moment while Harry spun, then lifted his wand and cast a spell. A moment later the shorts sprouted silver and gold patches that quickly turned into moons and stars. Harry clapped his hands together.

"Perfect!"

"I thought you'd like them." Snape tugged Harry's robe over his head. "Now get your shoes on or Mr Lupin will think you've changed your mind about the swimming lesson."

Harry dropped to his bottom and tugged on his shoes while Snape wondered to himself if it was normal for a young child to be so clothes conscious. He couldn't recall even thinking about what he wore as a youngster, clothes were just something he wore, the only difference being how many layers depending on the time of the year. In fact he couldn't recall even taking pride in his appearance until he'd attended Hogwarts and been sorted into his house. Until he'd finally found a place he truly belonged.

"I need a towel," Harry reminded him and Snape summoned a clean one from the cabinet. "And can I have a swim ring?"

888

Harry spent the walk down through the castle to the lake explaining what a swim ring was. Unfamiliar with the concept Snape could see the appeal, but unfortunately couldn't think up a spell to conjure such a thing.

"Perhaps next time I'm in muggle London I can find you one," he promised.

Harry gazed up at him in surprise. "Do you go to muggle London? Why? Are wizards allowed there then?"

"Wizards are allowed anywhere they like, Harry," Snape informed him. "It's muggles who are not allowed in our world."

"Why?"

"Good planning on our part." They reached the shore and stood under the shade of the beech tree. Harry stood by his side as Snape laid out the thick green towel and reached for the boy's robe. The boy lifted his arms and let the robe be tugged back over his head, trembling hand smoothing his tousled hair back down as it was mussed.

"Maybe you and Mr Lupin could show me how to swim?" he said nervously.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to." Snape crouched down and looked into Harry's uncertain little face. With only the baggy shorts slung about his narrow waist the boy looked much smaller and far more fragile. Snape himself was suddenly aware of the large expanse of blue water behind them.

Harry shrugged and bit his lip. "I do want to," he admitted. "How about if you just stay and watch? You could take your shoes off and paddle?"

Before Snape could answer this invitation Lupin was arriving, clad in a one piece swimming costume that covered him from neck to knee and down most of his arms and legs. Diverted from his fears Harry just stared at the red and blue striped outfit for a moment before he started giggling.

Snape rather wished he had a giggle or two in him himself.

Lupin stopped and looked down at himself. "What? No good?"

"I wouldn't say that," Snape managed as Harry covered his mouth and laughed harder. "It's cheered me up no end."

"I'll have you know this suit was handed down to me by my father," Lupin said with some dignity, although there was a twinkle in his amber eyes. "And I think it belonged to his father before him, I'm not sure."

Snape could only shake his head. It was annoyingly typical that even when he should have been embarrassed and humiliated the damn Gryffindor could make a joke out of it.

"Is that a wizard bathing suit, Mr Lupin?" Harry managed.

"The very height of fashion," Lupin informed him, tossing a bright red towel down next to Harry's.

"Perhaps we could get you one just like it, Harry?" Snape suggested, raising a brow. "What do you think?"

Harry raised his own brows in alarm and then looked into his father's eyes and giggled again. "No way!" he retorted. "I like my moons and stars better."

"It's your loss," Lupin informed him, ruffling the boy's silky black hair teasingly. "All ready for your first lesson?"

Harry's grin faded a little. "Um," he said, looking out over the vast expanse of blue water. "What about the giant squid, sir? It doesn't bite, does it?"

"The squid is the guardian of the lake, Harry. He's there to protect us," Lupin informed him, holding out one hand. "Coming?"

"Wait," Snape commanded, lifting his wand. "A little protection against the sun wouldn't go amiss either." He cast a quick spell and Harry shivered a little as a fine mist settled over him. He sniffed.

"Smells nice."

"Coconut," Lupin clarified. "My favourite." He held out his arms. "I could do with some of that myself. Severus?"

With Harry watching Snape could hardly refused, nevertheless he managed a grumble as he cast the spell. "There's hardly enough of you showing to make it worth the effort."

888

Severus watched as Harry tried the water with his toe, still clinging firmly to his tutor's hand. Then as Lupin stepped in up to his ankles Harry bravely followed, casting a glance over his shoulder as if to assure himself that his father was still close by. Then Lupin was sinking up to his neck in the clear water and Harry crouched a little to get wetter.

"Not taking a dip yourself, Severus?"

Snape started at the voice by his ear and shot the headmaster a dark look. "I'm not so fond of water as Harry is." He glanced back at where Harry was still standing while Lupin demonstrated a few moves with his cupped hands. "Not that you'd know it to look at him right now."

"He's a bold lad," Dumbledore said comfortably. He waved his wand and an ornate park bench appeared. The old wizard sat back with a sigh. "It's a perfect day for a swimming lesson, at any rate."

Overhead a bird circled and soared and a gentle breeze ruffled the surface of the lake, which reflected the blue of the sky and the tiny wisps of clouds that floated overhead. It was a perfect July day.

"Just thought I'd let you know that Fudge has been on at me about that picture and article in the Prophet. Didn't sound too pleased about it all, actually."

Snape grunted. He'd read the letters page in the newspaper this morning and it had irritated him so much he'd accidentally set fire to it. Witches and wizards the length and breadth of Britain it seemed all thought they had a right to comment about Harry Potter and his new circumstances. There wasn't a lot of support for the wizard 'claiming' to be his father. Snape had been fuming about that for hours.

"I had a letter from Molly this morning, Severus," Dumbledore continued as if they were having a perfectly chatty conversation instead of a clearly one sided talk. "She mentioned that you refused to let Harry go and stay with her and Arthur during the holidays."

Snape felt a flare of the anger within him. "As I told her when she first broached the subject, headmaster, and when she wrote to me about it later, it would not be safe for Harry to spend time away from Hogwarts."

"You found it safe enough to take him on holidays," Dumbledore pointed out mildly. "And we can certainly take precautions."

"I don't think so."

"If you're worried about being away from Harry I'm sure the Weasleys wouldn't mind you staying-"

"No," Snape said flatly.

"No," Dumbledore repeated.

In the water Harry was now feeling bold enough to float on his back, with Lupin's hands supporting him. His gaily patterned shorts billowed around his skinny legs and knobbly knees as he fearlessly tilted his head back and gazed up at the blue sky.

"Harry is brave," Severus said quietly, almost as if to himself. "He's had to be. But a lot of that courage is only surface deep. He wears it like a shell. Underneath he's still so unsure, so needy..."

Next to him Dumbledore was looking away, as if trying to conceal his expression.

"What?" Snape asked curiously.

"Nothing." Dumbledore's face when he glanced back was innocent. "Well Molly had a second thought, Severus, that you might be more amenable to. She'd like to throw a birthday party for Harry and Neville. What do you say?"

Snape's instinctive reaction was to say no and walk away, but he had learned long ago that instinctive was often reflexive, and that reflexes weren't always the best reaction to a situation.

"Harry might enjoy a party," he said slowly, turning it over in his mind.

"Might?" Dumbledore chuckled. "I'm sure he'd enjoy a party tremendously. And perhaps you're right about him not staying for any length of time. At his age it would be wiser to keep him closer to home. A little of the Weasleys goes a long way."

Severus sat down on the bench, keeping his gaze on the lake shore, where Harry now lay on his front, practising his kicking.

"You think I should do this, don't you?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I think," he began softly, "that the time may well come when such freedom will be denied young Harry. When the luxury of a holiday like the one you've just taken will be out of the question." Snape slanted him a reluctant glance and Dumbledore smiled at him sadly. "I think we need to let Harry enjoy such freedoms while he may."

Snape looked back at the water where the lesson seemed to be over for the moment. Instead Harry had his arms clutched about Lupin's neck and was being towed through the water, to his apparent delight.

"I understand it's not easy for you to trust your son to others. In fact I'm rather impressed, Severus, that you would even allow Remus to teach Harry to swim."

"I'm still impressed that I let Lupin within a mile of Harry," Snape said bluntly. "I wasn't given much choice then or now. The alternative was for Harry to never learn to swim, and believe me when I tell you that I am selfish enough to have seriously considered it as an option."

"But you swallowed your pride and asked Lupin for the favour?"

"He offered," Snape said sharply. "I have never asked him for anything!"

"But you would, for Harry's sake?"

"For Harry's sake," Snape said bitterly. "For Harry's sake. Can you think of any other reason I would let my son anywhere near that family of red headed fools? Why I stand by and let Lupin share these moments with Harry that I-" Snape broke off, rage all but choking him. Harry was squealing with laughter as Lupin tossed him in the air and caught him between strong hands.

"Sharing some fun with Lupin or a cuddle with Molly doesn't take any part of Harry away from you, Severus," Dumbledore said kindly. "And I meant what I said. The old Severus would have rather denied Harry then bent so far."

Snape's rage simmered as he clamped a lid on its cauldron within him. "The old Severus never had Harry in his life," he pointed out more evenly. "However I'm not sure how much farther I may bend, headmaster. Before breaking."

"Nonsense," Dumbledore dismissed. "I tell you quite honestly, my boy. You're stronger now than I've ever known you before."

Snape grunted noncommittally. He didn't feel any stronger. Watching his son with Lupin was like watching him with Molly Weasley. Like seeing a glimpse into a part of Harry that he could never share, because he didn't have the warmth or the heart to cuddle and play so openly.

"You always were harder on yourself than anyone else," Dumbledore said, patting his arm comfortably. "I think you're doing a fine job at fatherhood, for what it's worth."

"After those muggles I could only look good," Snape said gruffly, turning away from the praise.

"So will you think about the party then?"

Harry was wading out of the lake with Lupin beside him, and Snape watched as the tutor playfully rubbed Harry's dripping wet head as if he were a seal. The former Gryffindor was a huge influence on Harry's life. Molly Weasley wanted to be the closest thing to a mother the boy would ever know. Neville was like a brother to him and the Longbottom family, although smaller since the war, retained a prestige and influence that stretched back centuries into the history of the magical world...

Snape said nothing more to Dumbledore as he picked up Harry's towel and tossed it to the approaching child.

"Did you see me, daddy?" Harry was saying excitedly as he rubbed his face dry. "I was floating all by myself and kicking too. Mr Lupin said that tomorrow he'll teach me more and soon I'll be swimming like a fish."

Dumbledore conjured up another bench and a round table and Lupin wrapped his own towel around his shoulders and sat down with a sigh and a damp squelch.

"That's if we may have another lesson tomorrow, Severus?" he asked politely.

Severus inclined his head and Harry clapped his hands together. "I'm starved!" he then announced and Lupin volunteered to summon a house elf to bring them some snacks. Dumbledore chimed in his appreciation of the idea and the three set to deciding what they were most hungry for while Severus sat and surveyed his boy.

For Harry's sake indeed, but not without some deeper plan forming. Snape was a Slytherin after all, and they prided themselves on their cunning. How many brothers in the Weasley clan? Purebloods all. It couldn't hurt for them to grow up fondly thinking of Harry as a little brother. And just how much influence might the next generation of Longbottoms have, properly encouraged?

How many members of the Order surrounded the child, doting on him as he grew?

Harry had it all ahead of him, Dumbledore was only echoing Snape's own thoughts when he voiced that concern. Bringing him here to Hogwarts to keep him safe was like building a wall between the little child and those who might harm him, whatever their motive. How could it hurt then to start building some other walls and maybe some bridges, greater fortifications against what was to come?

Powerful friends and all the lessons that his father could teach him or have taught. What more could Snape do?

A fine job at fatherhood indeed.

888

"Harry," Snape interjected when the boy paused long enough to drain his pumpkin juice. "How would you like a birthday party?"

Harry lowered his glass and stared at his father, eyes wide. "A party?" he repeated. "For me?"

"And Neville."

"But who would come?" Harry wondered.

Snape glanced at Dumbledore and nodded slightly and the older wizard smiled widely.

"All your friends, of course," The headmaster said, spreading his hands. "Mrs Weasley and her family want to throw you and Neville a party at her house. And with you and Neville and his family and Mr Lupin and your father and I, why it should be quite a crowd."

Harry's eyes were still wide with surprise as he considered this. "A party," he said again. He frowned a little and glanced at his father. "With cake and candles and everything?"

"Wouldn't be much of a party without cake and candles," Lupin said cheerfully. "And presents and probably balloons and streamers too."

"Wow." Harry absorbed it all, then sought his father's gaze once more. "Is it all right?" he said uncertainly.

Snape nodded. "It's just fine," he said.


	13. Chapter 13

It was the night before his birthday and Harry found himself unable to sleep. He was feeling almost sick with excitement and anticipation. Tomorrow he was to have his very first birthday party. Not only that but he would be leaving the castle and visiting his friends the Weasleys, who, in Harry's opinion, were the coolest family ever.

Tossing and turning behind the curtains of his bed Harry finally pushed off his sheet and sat up. His nightlight glowed softly next to him and using its warm pale light as a guide he shifted the thick curtain aside a little and scrabbled in the top drawer of his bedside cupboard. He tugged out a slim book and ruffled through its pages, sitting cross legged amongst the tangle of his bedclothes.

This was the book his tutor, Mr Lupin, had given him at the end of term feast. The colourful cover depicted a hand painted dragon, its golden and red scales glinting in the soft glow of the nightlight. Harry ran loving fingers over it, hugging to his heart the warm feeling of receiving a gift from someone he loved. It was one of his most prized possessions and he had spent some time agonising over what to use it for. It had seemed to him much too good to simply draw in, like it was any old book.

His father had suggested he use it for a diary which had seemed a fine idea to Harry until his dad had explained exactly what a diary was and how much writing it would involve. Harry liked writing just fine but he had the firm belief it was something you did because you had to, and not for fun.

He had compromised on the idea of a picture diary, where he could record the exciting events of his life with very big pictures and a very small amount of writing.

Opening the book on his lap Harry smiled at the first entry. He'd drawn his first broomstick ride and there he sat in the picture, perched on the broom in front of his father, looking very brave as they soared along next to a puffy cloud and a fierce looking bird. Harry had chosen not to draw in the straps his father had bound them together with. His dad called that artistic license which Harry figured out was another sort of pretending. He'd decided he liked the sound of it.

Turning the page he reflected that perhaps there was a bit of artistic license at work here as well. Especially the part where he and his dad weren't so much standing watching the dragons as they were riding around on their backs. Still, Harry thought, the dragons he'd drawn were every bit as good as the one on the cover of his book, and their teeth and claws in particular were impressively ferocious.

And there was the next picture over the page. Harry stifled a giggle and then looked around guiltily in case his father had heard. He listened for a moment but all he could hear was the old clock in the sitting room ticking away loudly and the floorboards creaking a little as they did every night. Harry returned his attention to the page. Here he had drawn his first swimming lesson, and there was Mr Lupin in his red and blue swimming costume. He'd wondered if maybe he'd overdone it a little with the stripes but his father had disagreed and pronounced it his best drawing ever. Harry had to agree that it made everyone he showed it to laugh quite loudly, so his dad was probably right.

The last drawing so far had taken most of Harry's black crayon to complete. It depicted the grounds at midnight, the sky heavy and dark, the round golden moon casting its bright rays down on him and his dad collecting their moonlight cuttings. They both carried baskets but instead of the rather blunt little scissors Harry had been armed with in reality, the smallest figure in the drawing now sported a huge carved sword.

Perhaps there had been a bit of license about this art too, Harry reflected. His father had commented on the sword and the headbands and their black outfits. And really it had taken Harry ages to explain the concept of ninjas to his skeptical dad. But they did look very cool, Harry finally decided, turning to the next page. It was still clean and white, as if awaiting the birthday party with as much anticipation as Harry himself.

Another floorboard creaked and Harry recognised it right away. Quickly stowing the book under his pillow the little boy blew his nightlight out and snuggled down, closing his eyes just in time as the curtain was drawn back a little letting in a chink of moonlight.

Harry concentrated on keeping his eyes closed as long seconds ticked past, but as usual his dad saw right through him.

"Go to sleep, Harry," he whispered.

Unwilling to give up the game Harry faked a small snore and his father snorted softly before tucking the curtain back tight. The boards creaked again but Harry kept his eyes closed, half his attention on his dad's progress and half drifting finally to real sleep.

As it claimed him the clock in the sitting room chimed midnight.

Harry was six.

888

Snape was actually awake before his excitable son the next morning, and he used the time to great advantage, sipping his tea and flipping through the newspaper. It would be his last chance of the day for some peace and quiet and he sighed as he contemplated the hours ahead. Three six year olds, innumerable Weasleys, Dumbledore and Lupin in a social setting and of course the redoubtable Mrs Longbottom.

He sighed again.

Still, it was only one day and it solved the problem of what on earth he could have done for Harry's birthday on his own. The house elves would have provided cake of course, in fact Pickle's ears had drooped alarmingly when he'd been informed Harry wouldn't be needing a birthday feast after all. But really it probably would have been dismal for the small boy, just the two of them there while he blew out his candles and made his wish.

Pickle appeared with a pop and a plate of fresh toast and the house elf fussed around the table a bit, casting glances towards the hall.

"Something wrong?" Snape finally asked impatiently and the old elf jumped.

"Not at all, sir, not at all," he squeaked, round eyes wide. "Just looking out for young Master Harry, sir. Pickle found some of that jam he wanted, sir. With no seeds."

The elf produced a glass jar from his spotless tea towel toga and proffered it proudly. "We, that is the house elves, sir, thought the young master might like some for his birthday breakfast. Seeing as how we're not to give him a birthday feast, sir," the elf finished reproachfully.

Snape glanced at the table, just noticing the extra covered dishes gracing its surface. Pickle followed his gaze guiltily.

"Just a few extras, sir," he said hurriedly. "Just a few treats for young Master Harry. Ah!' he exclaimed, large bat like ears twitching. "There he is now!"

Harry appeared in the doorway, yawning widely and still wrapping his dressing gown around his narrow waist.

"Happy Birthday!" Pickle announced, and suddenly there were a dozen more elves about the room, calling out greetings and bowing. A streamer popped and Harry was showered with confetti.

Harry jumped at the noise and then smiled, looking delighted. "Thank you," he said shyly and , as one, the elves all bowed very low again.

"That's enough," Snape said firmly and the elves all popped away, leaving only Pickle by the table. He laid the jam jar on the snowy white cloth, bowed again and then vanished.

"Wow," Harry said, shaking his head and leaving a trail of confetti behind him. "Fancy even Mr Pickle and the others remembering my birthday," he marvelled. Instead of heading to his seat he stopped before his father and smiled again, still looking a trifle shy. "Morning, daddy," he murmured.

"Good morning, Harry," Snape said, eye brows rising. Harry was still looking at him expectantly and he realised it was his turn. "Ah, happy birthday, son."

Harry smiled more widely. "I'm six," he reminded his father.

"I know," Snape returned, not sure what was expected of him now. Did Harry want his gifts right away? Was there some muggle tradition he was totally missing?

Harry surveyed him for a few moments more, then shrugged and climbed onto his seat. "Are wizard birthdays the same as muggle birthdays?" he asked conversationally as he lifted his orange juice glass with two hands and took a sip.

"I don't know how muggles celebrate birthdays," Snape admitted, feeling as though he had just missed something important. "But don't be disappointed if things are a bit different at the Weasleys today. It's very kind of Mrs Weasley to offer to host this party at all. Understand?"

Harry absorbed this thoughtfully. "Will there be a cake with candles?"

"Absolutely."

"Do I blow them out and make a wish?"

"So far as I know."

Harry nodded. "That's all right then. I don't know much more about birthdays than that anyway. I was never allowed to go to Dudley's parties."

Snape resisted the urge to reach over and touch one small hand for comfort. "Eat your breakfast," he ordered instead, unwilling to think about the past today. Today was to be a happy day for the boy, building a new memory to replace the old bad ones. "And don't forget it's Neville's birthday as well," he reminded Harry as the child reached for the toast. "You must share the limelight."

"Ooh, my favourite jam!" Harry exclaimed, spreading a generous dollop onto his toast. Then he looked up. "What's limelight? Can I have orange instead? Lime turns my tongue green."

Snape shook his head. "I'm just reminding you that the party is for both you and Neville."

"It will be good to see Neville again," Harry said happily around a mouthful of toast. "I bet he likes my present. I bet he likes it best of all."

Snape gave up and finished his own breakfast, enjoying the extra treats as much as Harry did.

"What time do we go?" Harry asked, mopping up the last of his syrup with a morsel of pancake.

"The party starts at eleven."

Harry looked at the clock with a sigh, it was barely eight. "What am I supposed to do until then?"

Deciding it was time Snape nodded over Harry's shoulder to the fireplace. Harry's birthday present leaned up against it, a bow tied around one end its only decoration, mainly because Snape couldn't figure out how to wrap it.

Harry almost choked on his last bite of pancake and Snape jumped up and slapped him on the back. He handed him his juice and Harry gulped at it, wide eyes still fixed on the broomstick leaning against the mantelpiece, despite the watery tears blurring his vision.

"It's a birthday gift, Harry," Snape said in exasperation, rubbing the boy's narrow back. "Not worth choking yourself over."

"You bought me a broomstick," Harry said reverently, scrambling off the chair and rushing to the gift.

"Don't sound so surprised." Snape said, rolling his eyes. "You've been hinting about it for weeks."

But Harry wasn't listening, he was running his fingers over the shiny wood then wrapping his hands around the shaft and lifting the broomstick up. The wood was a dark cherry red and small fancy letters were set into the shaft in bronze.

"The Brightfeather," Harry read carefully. "Wow." He held the broom as if to mount it but Snape held up a warning finger and he froze.

"First rule of broom ownership, Harry," Snape said firmly. "No flying inside. Ever."

Harry looked crestfallen but hugged the broom to his chest. "Can we go outside so I can try it?"

"When you're dressed," Snape began and Harry was away, almost tangling his feet in the broom before catching himself on the sofa and hurrying to the hall. "If you survive that long," Snape muttered. He glanced at the mantelpiece where another gift resided, unnoticed in the glare of the much anticipated broom. He gathered it up and carried it to the bedroom where Harry was sitting on the floor trying to pull his shorts on without letting go of his broom.

"Just get dressed and stop being silly," Snape ordered, tossing the gift box on the bed and taking the broom from Harry's hand.

"What's that?"

Snape felt a little awkward. Harry had asked for a broom and received one, he hadn't been expecting anything else. In hindsight it seemed a little foolish to have wrapped this last gift up at all, he was Harry's father, he bought Harry's clothes, they weren't gifts. But he had expended some energy on this, put some thought into it. And Harry was the most clothes conscious child he'd ever met, although admittedly he hadn't met that many children Harry's age...

"Is it for me?" Harry asked curiously, standing up and straightening the waistband of his shorts.

"It's just clothes," Snape shrugged.

Harry's mouth turned down. "It's not another velvet suit, is it?" he asked anxiously. "I didn't mean to tear the last one, honestly I didn't. It was that frilly lace on the neck, it got caught on my foot."

"Let's not get into another discussion about why your foot was anywhere near the lace collar of your suit, shall we?" Snape nudged the box towards Harry. "It's not a suit. But it is a rather smart set I thought you could wear to the party."

Looking as though he suspected the worst Harry tugged the lid off the box and pulled out the shirt. It was simple white linen with a neat collar and not a trace of lace in sight. Under it was a pair of trousers in various shades of blue in a material Snape wouldn't use to wipe out a crucible. He'd personally hated it on sight but the shop keeper at Gladrags had assured him it was very much the required article of clothing for the discerning muggle born and highly popular. This, of course, had been reflected in the price.

"Jeans," Harry breathed, pulling them out and holding them up. "Boys jeans!"

"All your clothes are boys clothes, Harry," Snape began in exasperation, but Harry had whirled and was hugging him tightly around the waist. "Yes, well," Snape said, patting the tousled head. "I'm glad you like them."

"Can I wear them now?" Harry reached for his shorts but Snape shook his head.

"They're for the party."

"But it's my birthday!"

"And I want you to look presentable at the party."

"I won't get them dirty," Harry beseeched. "I want to wear them now!"

"And if you do get them dirty?" Snape raised a brow. "Pickle mended your velvet suit, you know. That's what you'll have to wear if you get your new outfit dirty."

Harry made a face and laid the jeans carefully back on the bed. "I'll save them for later," he decided.

"Wise choice."

888

"Now, you don't just climb on a broomstick, Harry," Snape lectured when they were on the wide grassy swathe near the forest. "First you lay it on the ground."

Harry obediently laid the broom down, giving it a loving pat.

"Now the rules. Remember the first one?"

"No flying inside," Harry chorused. "Ever."

"Well done. Rule two: Don't fly out of my sight. Your boundaries are the edge of the forest." He pointed. "The castle walls. And the standing stones. Right?"

Harry nodded, shifting his feet impatiently.

"Finally this is a child's broom, Harry. It is charmed not to fly too high or too fast, understand?"

"But it does fly, right?" Harry asked anxiously.

"Let's see." Snape held his hand out in demonstration. "Put your hand out, Harry, over the broom."

Harry did, looking excited.

"Now you must command the broom to your hand. It must come to you and respond to your magic, or it will not respond to your commands to fly or stop. Say: up! It might not work the first time."

"Up!" Harry commanded and the broom jumped up and hit the palm of his hand. The boy grasped it, face glowing. "I did it!"

Snape contented himself with a nod. He'd expected nothing less. "Now, mount your broom and I will instruct you how to steer."

Harry was a natural, although his enthusiasm made the broom's movements a little erratic at times. Glad of the extra charms he had asked Flitwick to add, Snape watched a trifle anxiously as both Harry and the broom seemed to strain to go higher. But the charms held and Harry floated barely a foot above his dangling sandals.

"Got all that? Especially the stopping part?"

Harry nodded, sitting back on the cushiony bristles as shown. "Can I fly now?"

Snape nodded and the boy was away, hair streaming behind him and his whoop of joy echoing off the old castle walls. Snape kept one hand on his wand and one on the camera as he snapped a few pictures and made sure the child didn't fly into a wall or a tree.

Harry however didn't seem at all concerned, he flew to the boundary indicated and performed a near perfect turn, speeding back at the absolute limit of the broom's capabilities.

"Can I go faster?" he called out and Snape shook his head.

"When you're older!" he called as Harry whipped by.

Harry turned again and doubled back. "How old?" he called.

"Thirty," Snape muttered, waving as Harry zoomed past towards the weathered old standing stones. The boy waved gaily back.

After some more dizzying turns Harry headed back and slowed the broom right down, puttering to a gentle idle before his father.

"I can fly," he said proudly.

"And stop," Snape added, "which is just as important."

"When I'm better can I get a snitch and try to catch it?"

"We'll see," said Snape, in the common noncommittal cry of all parents, muggle or magic. "Now stop wasting time, go play, you have to get washed and dressed for the party in a few hours."

888

Snape made a final inspection before they left. Harry was clean and tidy, his hair still a trifle damp, the unruly waves momentarily tamed. He had Neville's gift clutched firmly in his hand, the wrapping paper already looking slightly the worse for wear. He also had a bunch of flowers they had picked for Mrs Weasley that morning after the flying lesson. Harry was clutching it so tightly in his excitement it was starting to look a little tattered as well.

"I'll hold the flowers, shall I?" Snape offered, taking the slightly bedraggled bunch and livening it up with a small charm. "Just for the journey, you can give it to your hostess when we arrive."

Snape checked that he had his own small gift for Neville in his pocket and the camera he had taken to carrying around with him lately. Harry liked lots of photographs to hang on his walls and show his friends and Snape indulged him. The fact that he kept a few for himself was totally beside the point.

"Are you sure we won't get burned?" Harry asked doubtfully, staring into the small fire Snape had spelled into the grate. "It looks pretty hot to me."

"If you stepped into a normal fire, Harry, I guarantee you would get burnt," Snape said, taking a pouch of Floo powder from his pocket. "That's where the magic comes in. Floo powder turns the fire green and takes the heat away, you can tell right away that it's safe." Snape flung a handful into the flames and the fire roared and burst into green flames which breathed sparkly fumes over them but absolutely no heat.

Harry was making a horrified face but Snape picked him up and perched him on his hip. "Keep your elbows tucked in," he lectured. "And close your eyes or the soot will get in them."

"I don't like this," Harry moaned, but Snape was already striding into the roaring green light.

"The Burrow," he said firmly, and with Harry's head tucked tightly in his neck they began to spin.

"Daddy!" Harry wailed, then he spat and spluttered as they spun to a halt and Snape leapt nimbly from the new grate.

"I should have told you to keep your mouth closed too," Snape said as Harry leaned back against his arm making gagging noises.

"Oh, dear," Mrs Weasley said, appearing at their side. "Mouth full of soot? Let me get you some water."

"I really don't like that!" Harry exclaimed, wiping at his mouth and smearing soot all over his chin.

"Here, take a sip," Mrs Weasley said sympathetically, holding a mug up to his lips. Harry took a sip and wiped his mouth again. "Look at you!" Mrs Weasley exclaimed, brushing ineffectually at their clothes. Harry's once white shirt was now grey. "Let me get you a clothes brush and I'll dust you down."

"That won't be necessary," Snape said firmly. He stood Harry on his feet and pulled out his wand to cast a spell. The soot flew off their clothes and tumbled harmlessly back into the fireplace.

"Oh, that's a handy spell!" Mrs Weasley exclaimed. "Remind me to get that off you before you go." She smiled down at Harry fondly. "Hello, Harry love. Happy birthday!"

Harry was still rubbing at his mouth a bit, but he returned her smile. Snape thrust the bunch of flowers at him and Harry gallantly handed them to his hostess, as if he gave flowers to women all the time.

"For me?" she exclaimed, and then she snatched him up and gave him a big hug.

"Wizards do give birthday hugs!" he said happily as she stood him back down.

"Wizards give all sorts of hugs," she confided with a wink. Then she shrieked. "Ronnie!"

Harry jumped and Snape winced.

"Ronnie!" she shouted again. "Harry's here! He's been ever so excited," she said comfortably. "Even cleaned his room up, and I hardly had to nag him at all!"

There was a clatter on the stairs and Ronnie appeared, bright red hair a flame in the dim cool kitchen. "Hi, Harry!" he said breathlessly, running up to his mum and leaning against her leg. "What did you get for your birthday?"

"A broom!" Harry said, grinning widely. "And I've been flying it all morning!"

"Yes, yes, how nice," Mrs Weasley said. "Where are the twins, Ronnie?"

Ronnie shrugged. "Dunno. But Percy is locked in his room and Ginnie is still asleep." He made a face. "She's a girl and she still has naps," he told Harry.

"And Charlie and Bill are setting up outside." She flicked a quick smile Snape's way. "I thought we'd eat out under the trees as there's so many of us. Why don't you show Harry your room, dear, and see if you can find the twins."

"Come on, Harry," Ronnie said, running for the stairs.

Harry cast a look at his dad and Snape inclined his head. "Behave yourself, Harry."

"Yes, daddy," Harry said, and then he was rushing headlong to the stairs and noisily following the youngest Weasley son.

Snape glanced around the crowded space, trying to keep the disdain off his face. Honestly, he felt as if he could have described this place perfectly accurately without stepping foot here, just from knowing the Weasleys he had already met. Cheerful chaos, the kind magical families thrived on, the kind that magic itself seemed to thrive on and that drove Snape nuts. The house didn't seem to have a straight line or an level edge, even its walls meandered carelessly around, higher in some places, wood meeting brick, openings too low to be windows but too high to be doors.

He became aware of the silence in the room and looked up to see Mrs Weasley surveying him, her fingers twisting rather nervously in her apron pocket. Snape found himself surprised. After the fearless way she had bearded him in his den over Harry he wouldn't have expected her to be anything less than wholly confident here, in her own home.

And yet her eyes were darting away from his and her voice when she spoke was high and nervous. "Er, Arthur has to work I'm afraid, although he'll try to get off early for the end of the party."

Snape was amused. What on earth was she in such a flap about? Him? He wrapped his cloak a little more tightly around his shoulders and drew himself up, as if unwilling to allow any of himself to touch the space around him. To his delight she only looked more nervous.

"I, er, I expect you'd like a cup of tea?" she ventured.

Snape assumed a disparaging expression and lifted one brow. "Tea?" he repeated coolly.

"I have coffee!" she squeaked.

This was fun! This was almost as much fun as sneering at students and making first year girls cry! Wondering what kind of scowl he could pull from his arsenal next Snape surveyed the flustered witch down the length of his crooked nose. Perhaps the day wouldn't be a total loss after all?

And then Dumbledore showed up and ruined all his fun.

888

As usual the thin old wizard seemed to fill all the available space around him as he made himself at home at the worn table and plonked his hat down next to him.

"Do sit down, Severus," he said cheerfully. "What are you looming about over there for?"

"Tea, Professor?" Mrs Weasley said gratefully, laying out some mugs. Dumbledore grinned.

"Lovely. Severus?"

Snape loomed stiffly for a moment longer before giving in with a sigh and sitting down. "Milk, no sugar," he said sullenly.

Mrs Weasley was all smiles now as she bustled around and Snape accepted his tea and blew on it, still wondering what had flustered the woman so. Anyone would think he was naturally intimidating!

Dumbledore took a sip of tea and gave a huge happy sigh. "Lovely!" he pronounced again. "What a fine day we're going to have!"

888

Harry sat on Ronnie's bed and gazed at the Quidditch players zooming in and out of the posters on the walls. "I could watch this all day," he murmured, eyes following one bold seeker as he caught the snitch and held it up triumphantly.

"It gets a bit dull after a while," Ronnie assured him, climbing up next to Harry and settling back against the headboard. "It's not a very big room but at least I don't have to share it. The twins share, but Ginny has her own room now, even if she is just a baby."

"It must be weird having a sister," Harry said absently, leaning over and touching a lamp by the bed. The outside swung around and little cut out shapes flashed past. Harry could make out pumpkins and broomsticks and cats.

"That's not mine!" Ronnie said hastily. "I just get stuck with all the old junk my big brothers don't want any more."

"I think it's cool," Harry said admiringly. "Must look great with the light off."

"You really think it's cool?" Ronnie said uncertainly.

"I think this whole place is cool!" Harry assured him. He jumped off the bed and rushed to the window, holding the sill and looking out over the sprawling front yard littered with fascinating looking items and the occasional chicken, scratching in the dirt.

"I suppose anywhere'd look good after living in a dungeon," someone drawled from the door and Harry looked up to see a red headed boy leaning up against the jamb. Then he blinked in amazement because the same boy appeared behind the first and winked at him.

"You look just the same!" Harry exclaimed. He turned to Ron. "Twins!"

"And we thought muggle born's didn't know anything!" the other twin said, coming into the room and throwing himself on the edge of the bed.

"He's not a muggle born," Ronnie said indignantly. "And you know it, George. His mum and dad were wizards."

"My dad is still a wizard," Harry interjected anxiously.

"I heard he was a vampire and he lived in a dungeon," the twin in the doorway said. "And he sucks the blood of students who don't pass their exams."

"Then Charlie wouldn't have any blood left at all!" Ronnie said and exploded into giggles. George joined him and the twin in the doorway snickered.

"My dad is not a vampire!" Harry said indignantly. "He's a wizard and a professor and he makes potions too! So there!"

"Well I heard he was a vampire that flew down and kidnapped you from the evil muggles who had you locked in their dungeon," George said curiously. "Did he, Harry? Did he fly?"

"He did not fly," Harry said, fists clenching. "He took a bus! And he's not a vampire either so you better take that back or I'll punch you in the nose!"

"Better punch two noses then, shrimp."

"Stop it Fred!" Ronnie exclaimed. "Don't pick on him just because he's my friend!" Ronnie joined Harry by the window. "Just ignore them, Harry," he said firmly. "They're always saying dumb things. You wait till I tell mum on you!" he warned the twins.

"Tattle tale," Fred said, poking his tongue out.

"You take it back!" Harry said again, unwilling to let it go. No one was going to say bad things about his dad and get away with it. He didn't care if there were two of them, he'd faced half a dozen bullies at a time before, when he couldn't run fast enough to get away from them. He could take on these two now.

"All right, all right," George said in a lazy tone from the bed. "Quit it, Fred, leave the nipper alone. It's his birthday after all."

"Do you take it back?" Harry demanded.

"Yeah, yeah, we take it back. No one really said he was a vampire. But he did kidnap you from those evil muggles, right?"

Harry subsided, not quite ready to forgive this cheeky pair their rudeness. "He just took me away from them, that's all," he said stiffly.

"But they were evil, right?" Fred said eagerly. "Dad said he read all this stuff in muggle newspapers about them, and then mum shushed him and we tried to get a look at the papers but mum burned them in the fire. But she was ever so upset, wasn't she, George?"

"Mum's a bit soft sometimes," George agreed. "She gets upset easily. But she called those muggles that had you evil folk, and that's strong words for our mum."

Harry frowned curiously. "Why would I be in a newspaper?"

George and Fred exchanged a look and then glanced at Ronnie. "Cos you're Harry Potter, of course," George finally said. "Harry Potter."

"What are you two dunderheads going on about?" Another red headed boy that Harry didn't know appeared in the doorway. He was taller and his hair stood up in a shock. "Oh," he said, spotting Harry by the window. "Hello and happy birthday." He glanced around at the boys ranged around the room and his expression grew suspicious. "You weren't fighting, were you?"

"This is Percy," Fred said, jerking his thumb at the newcomer.

Harry forgot his puzzlement and stared at Ronnie in amazement. "How many brothers do you have anyway?"

"More than you have fingers to count them on, ickle Harry," George said, bounding off the bed and pushing by Percy in the doorway. "I'm going down to help mum carry the party food outside. Coming, Fred?"

"You just want to get your fingers in the meringues!" Percy accused, staggering back as Fred pushed past him and rushed after his twin. "Hey!" And then he was off after them, his shirt tail flapping behind him.

Ronnie returned Harry's incredulous stare with a world weary shrug. "It's always like this around here," he sighed. "You get used to it."

"Um, are there really meringues?"

Ronnie grinned, his freckles dancing. "Not if we don't get down there fast! Race you!"

888

Neville was the next to arrive, with his grandmother and the famous Great Uncle Algy. Uncle Algy had a red face and a moustache that made him look rather like a walrus, but he had a hearty booming laugh and a big broad smile as well. Harry liked him instantly.

"Did you get your broomstick, Harry?" Neville asked anxiously as the first greetings were over and the boys huddled together in the corner. The adults were all sitting and drinking tea around the big old table.

"Uh huh," Harry confirmed proudly. "And I flew all around this morning, my dad showed me how. Did you get one too, Neville?"

"No, I didn't want one," Neville reminded him. "I don't like high places, you know that, Harry."

Unable to imagine how anyone wouldn't want to fly a broom, Harry just shrugged.

"What did you get then?" Ronnie asked curiously.

Neville puffed up his chest proudly. "A bicycle!"

Ronnie frowned and the twins, lurking nearby hooted. "A bicycle?" One of them said incredulously. "Little trike was it?"

A little incredulous himself Harry wrapped a conspiratorial arm around Neville's shoulder and glared at the twins. "Ignore them, Neville," he said firmly. "I always wanted a bike myself." Before I heard of broomsticks, he amended in his head.

"It has two wheels," Neville assured Harry and Ronnie, with a nervous glance at the twins. "And it's blue and shiny with a big silver bell."

Actually that did sound interesting. "A bell?" Harry repeated a little enviously. He wondered if he could put a bell on his Brightfeather.

"I've never ridden a bicycle," Ronnie said eagerly. "But one of our neighbours has one and it looks like fun. Can you ride it, Neville?"

"Uncle Algy showed me how this morning," Neville said proudly. "He said he wasn't going to give it to me because Gran said it was a muggle toy but Uncle Algy said that when Mr Lupin told him about me bouncing down the stairs last term he stopped worrying about me being a squib and so I could have a muggle toy. It used to be his when he was a boy."

"What's a squib?" Ronnie asked curiously and Harry nodded, glad this was something someone else didn't know as well.

Neville shrugged. "I don't know," he admitted. "But everyone used to think I was one. Must have something to do with bouncing."

"Maybe they were afraid you'd fall off the bike?" Harry suggested. "But now they know you'll bounce if you do?"

"That must be it," Neville agreed and Ronnie nodded.

"You're lucky," the red head sighed. "I wish I had my own broomstick or bike."

"You can ride my bike, if you want," Neville said generously. "If you come visit us at Hogwarts. Gran said I can leave it there in term time."

"Hey, you can ride and I'll fly over the top of you!" Harry said excitedly.

"Sounds pants to me," one of the twins drawled but Harry turned his back on him and made a gruesome face at Ronnie and Neville. They laughed, Neville covering his mouth with his hand and looking a trifle guilty.

"Some people won't get a ride," Harry said loudly. "Or a go with the silver bell."

"Boys!" Mrs Weasley called. "Time to go outside and start lunch!"

888

As a boy Snape could remember the feeling of being an observer rather than a participant. Outside of things looking in. Never really a part of what was going on.

He couldn't remember ever caring about it too much - even then most of the things that happened to other people seemed of little interest next to his own goals and ambitions.

But he could remember what it felt like, being the observer, the witness. And, sometimes, the spy.

Never more clearly than today, when he sat mutely as Harry and Neville's party carried on around him. The children infected each other with excitement, the adults sat and looked on with benign smiles as the chaos roiled around them. The whole party sat around tables under the huge spreading tree, there was food and drink and eventually cake.

Harry looked to him now and then, ran to him to show off a gift, smilingly handed him a piece of outrageously iced cake, but he didn't seem to expect too much more, and for that Snape felt grateful. Harry had been given so little in life so far that he was happy to accept anything he was given now. Which was just as well, because in this setting Snape didn't feel he had too much more to give.

After cake and presents the boys ran off to play, boundless in their energy. The youngest Weasley gamely followed after them, red pig tails bobbing as she tried to catch up. The three youngest boys all wore capes covered with moons and stars, a gift from Molly Weasley. Harry and Ron had also fashioned wands out of sticks and were even now duelling with them, darting around like swordsmen, thrusting and parrying.

"That's enough, boys!" Mrs Weasley scolded, scattering them like hens as she flapped her apron at them. "It's all fun and games until somebody loses an eye! And I don't have any spares!"

"Enjoying yourself?" Lupin asked dryly, dragging a chair over and planting it next to Snape's.

"Until now," Snape returned without heat. The day was nearly over and he glanced at the dipping sun, willing it to descend more quickly.

"Only from where we were sitting you looked more like the spectre at the feast." Remus shook his head in exasperation. "Honestly, Severus, you could have at least tried to join in. For Harry's sake."

Snape suppressed a yawn and covered his mouth politely with one hand. "Don't worry about Harry, Lupin. He's having the time of his life."

Remus shrugged irritably, hunching his shoulders and staring moodily down the end of the garden where the boys were all huddled together.

"But I do worry about Harry," he said glumly. "On this day of all days I can't help thinking about... them."

"Then do your thinking elsewhere," Snape ordered sharply. "I have no idea why you think I wish to hear your maudlin sentiments-"

"I'm not being maudlin!" Lupin defended hotly. "I just can't help thinking about Lily and James today-"

"That's your prerogative!" Snape snapped back. "Just don't inflict it on me!"

Lupin stared at him angrily. "You see! This is what worries me. I can't even mention James's name without you going off the deep end!"

"Doesn't stop you doing it though, does it?"

"You have no idea how over the top your reaction to him is, do you?" Lupin continued relentlessly. "I barely mentioned him to Harry that time and you flew off the handle."

"How many ways can I say I don't want to talk about that arrogant fool Potter?" Snape beseeched to the sky above him. He turned back to the angry tutor. "Look, if I move my chair over there will you promise not to follow me?"

"Like I promised not to talk about James with Harry? You can't keep the past buried forever, Severus."

"You've no idea how deep I'm willing to dig."

Lupin shook his head in disbelief. "I don't understand you," he finally said. "If you hated them so much, why did you do it? Why on earth did you help them create Harry?"

"Did you think if you pushed me far enough you could goad me into telling you that?" Snape asked, genuinely curious. "Put it out of your mind, Lupin, once and for all. There is one person on earth who has the right to ask me that question and expect an answer, and when Harry does ask, and he will - I will tell him the truth." Snape shrugged carelessly. "Maybe he'll tell you then, hmm?"

"Did you care about them at all?" Remus whispered. "James and Lily? I've thought sometimes that you must have cared a little, for one of them."

Snape snorted in black amusement. "Thought I was harbouring some deep passion for Lily did you? Or Potter? My beloved enemy sort of thing?" Snape snorted again, almost chuckling at the thought. "You've been reading too many gothic romances, dear tutor. No, I didn't care about them, as you so sweetly put it. In fact I despised him and was mostly indifferent to her. And now all I feel for them is contempt."

Lupin shook his head, looking ill. "Why, for goodness sake?"

"When they came to me and begged me to help them they made me certain promises," Snape said bitterly. "They broke them all. When they made Harry they took on the responsibility of his life. And they let him down."

"They died protecting him!"

"They should have done a better job protecting him," Snape shot back. "Because of them I've taken up a responsibility I should never have had to bear, that I had no desire to bear. And because of that Harry's lived the life he's lived and now he's living this life. This is not how it was meant to be for Harry. This is not who I am supposed to be."

Lupin's brow creased, his expression puzzled. "I don't understand you," he said again. "You love Harry, you dote on him. Any fool can see that."

"I'll take your word as a fool for that," Snape couldn't resist saying.

"I notice you don't deny it though."

"I believe it's a Gryffindor trait to bleed emotions all over the place," Snape retorted distastefully. "But we're in public now, Lupin, so try to show a little restraint, please?"

"But you do care for the boy," Remus persisted. "Why talk about him as if he was some onerous duty you had to fulfil?"

Snape looked away, assuming a bored expression. "It's probably a Gryffindor trait to assume the world well lost for love too. What do feelings matter? Harry's mine. But don't you firmly believe he'd be better off if he weren't?"

Lupin opened his mouth and then closed it again, biting his lip.

"Exactly," Snape smirked. "Every time you take me to task for my fatherhood skills you say as much. And you're right, he would be, there's no doubt about it. Forget my dubious parenting abilities, his very life is in danger now because of me. Don't you think I have the right to a little bitterness towards them?"

There was a silence between them for long moments, broken only by the excited cries of the children at play in the distance.

"I don't think you're a bad father," Remus finally said quietly.

"Oh good," Snape said sarcastically. "That was really keeping me up nights."

"I do think you're an arrogant, introverted, cynical greasy-"

"-cowardly, sycophantic obsequious." Snape flicked him a polite glance. "Sorry, wasn't it my turn? You know, all told I think I prefer the insulting loud mouth Gryffindor to the bleeding heart wallowing in the past. So much more true to form."

"Maybe that's my problem," Lupin said slyly. "I preferred the devious slimy Slytherin to the doting father. At least I knew where I was with him."

"I really must object to the word 'doting," Snape said mildly.

"What would you call it?"

"Dutiful," Snape said primly.

A hand clapped down on his shoulder and he jumped.

"Good to see you boys getting on so well," Dumbledore beamed at them both and for one moment Lupin and Snape were in perfect accord as they both grimaced at being called boys. "Molly's calling the children back for some lemonade and biscuits. Why don't you join us?"

"More food?" Snape said in amazement. "Who could possibly eat more..." His memory caught up with his mouth and he broke off. "Never mind."

"Six months and you're already an expert on children," Dumbledore joked and Lupin smirked at Snape behind the old wizard's back.

888

"Muggles play hide and seek too?" Percy said in amazement. "Fancy that."

"Who's 'it'?"

"Bill," Charlie volunteered. "He's oldest." He dragged his foot around in a circle in the dirt. "And this is 'home'. Make it home before Bill tags you or you're it next time. All right?"

"And don't leave the garden!" Mrs Weasley called from her chair under the huge spreading tree. The adults were all sitting in deck chairs now, relaxing in the dappled shade.

"You hear that, Fred? George?" Bill said sharply. "No cheating or you're out."

"We don't need to cheat," Fred said amiably. He grinned at Harry. "We're just that good."

"Good at cheating," Ronnie muttered.

Bill whistled to start and then covered his eyes, counting loudly. Ginny had shrilly insisted on staying with Bill so she was next to him, peeping through her fingers. Ronnie and Percy and Charlie and the twins tore right off but Neville and Harry stood nervously, unsure of where to go. Bill had reached ten before Harry's feet began working and he tore around the side of the house, eyes darting around. Where to hide? The Weasley's knew this place like the back of their hands, freckles and all, but to Harry it was all new.

Still, all he had to do was stay hidden long enough for Bill to go by him, then he could break for home. A nearby hedge was soft and green and Harry carefully checked for spiky bits before wriggling into its depths. This had been a favoured hiding spot from Dudley and his pals back in Privet Drive, because everyone had hedges and a lot of them were quite hollow inside.

Harry pulled the leaves back behind him and squatted in the dim recesses of the hedge, ears straining for Bill's footsteps. Something brushed against his hand and Harry jumped a mile and opened his mouth to cry out, just stopping himself in time.

A small green snake was nudging him, its head waving.

"lo," it whispered and Harry stared in surprise, panic forgotten.

"What?" he whispered back.

"I said hello," the snake hissed, winding itself forward. It was actually quite a long snake, Harry realised, as it slid out of the depths of greenery. "What are you doing?"

Harry blinked behind his glasses and looked around, wondering if someone was playing a trick on him. But it had definitely been the snake talking to him, in fact it was looking quite impatient as it lifted its head a little higher and swayed.

"Well, if you're going to be like that," it said huffily, turning as if to go.

"No!" Harry hissed, bending his head down closer. "I'm sorry, I was just trying to be quiet. I'm hiding."

"Ahh." The snake's tongue flickered across its mouth. "Me too. I like the sun most days, but not when I hear those big'uns rumbling about out there. It's not safe then."

"Big'uns?" Harry repeated, fascinated by the wonderful low drawl of the snake's voice.

The snake nodded its head at Harry a few times. "Like you," he hissed. "Except they don't talk to me, they just try and catch me. I'm too quick for them though," it added proudly.

"Why don't you bite them?"

The snake flickered his tongue again. "Yuck," it said disdainfully. "They probably taste as bad as they smell!"

Harry snickered into his hand and the snake huffed a hissing chuckle of its own.

"Do I smell?" Harry wondered and the snake lowered its head and flicked its tongue over Harry's hand.

"A good smell," it decided. "Like a snake, only with two legs."

"I thought snakes were slimy and wet," Harry said, boldly lifting his free hand and stroking the snakes green scales. "But you're not slimy at all! You're lovely and warm and dry."

The snake swivelled its head and flicked its tongue again. "Someone's coming," it hissed and Harry made himself smaller and held his breath. Through the leaves he could make out Bill's tall form walking towards the hedge and he tensed, ready to try to break for home. But then two red headed shapes pounded up behind Bill shrieking with laughter, and with a cry Bill turned and chased them.

"Whew," the snake hissed. "Guess you're not going to get eaten after all. Bit of luck there."

"He wasn't going to eat me," Harry attempted to explain, but the snake was already coiling away.

"See you," it hissed and Harry called a quiet good bye after it, letting his hand trail down its back as strong muscles worked beneath its skin to propel it back into the green darkness.

Then the hedge was shaking and a big hand reached for Harry.

"Got you!" Bill called triumphantly, but like a snake himself Harry was ducking and slithering away, breaking free of the hedge and dodging grasping fingers.

"Not yet!" he yelled, forgetting the snake in the break for freedom. He belted for the circle of home where Ronnie and the twins already waited, leaning over the mark in the dirt and egging him on.

"Run, Harry!" Ronnie hooted, but Bill's long legs were too much and he caught Harry by the shoulder.

"Tag! You're it!" Bill called and the Weasleys broke out of the circle and were off again.

"Who's ready for a nice cold drink and a biscuit?" Mrs Weasley called and instantly a dozen pairs of legs veered towards her, play forgotten.

888

"So, Harry," Charlie said, chewing vigorously on his ginger snap. "What was it like living with muggles?"

Harry shrugged, applying himself to his own biscuit. "Don't really remember," he mumbled around a mouthful of crumbs.

"Our dad likes muggles," Ronnie chimed in. "He collects plugs."

"What sort of plugs?" Harry asked curiously.

Ronnie looked nonplussed. "What sorts are there?"

"Lots I think." Harry frowned and absently licked some chocolate from his chocolate chip biscuit off his finger. "There's bath plugs and electric plugs, and um, spark plugs, I saw them on TV..."

"What's TV?" Percy interrupted.

Now Harry was stumped. How did you explain TV?

"It's like stories," he said vaguely. "That people act out and you watch it on this box thing. Cartoons were my favourite, you'd like them," he told Ronnie earnestly. Neville nodded, he'd heard all this before.

"I miss it sometimes," Harry continued. "But broomsticks are better. And dragons and castles and living with my dad."

The children sitting around him grew quiet, except for Ginny who was demanding another biscuit and Bill who was trying to wipe her sticky fingers with his hanky before handing her one.

"Um," Charlie said into the silence. "Is it really better?" He cast a look over at Snape, sitting back at the table with the adults, sipping a cup of tea. There seemed to be a lot of things he wanted to say, did Charlie Weasley, but he contented himself with the question again. "Is it really better? With him?"

Harry nodded fervently. "I have my own bedroom and my own things."

Charlie nodded. "I can see how that would appeal," he said, with the world weary cynicism of a sibling of six. "Did you have to share your room when you lived with the muggles then?"

Harry looked from his interested face to the twins curious expressions. He bit his lip. Suddenly he didn't want to be having this conversation, didn't want to be talking about the Dursleys. Not amongst these children with their cheerful crowded rooms and their cheerful hugging mother. He felt a prickle of something like shame when he remembered the cupboard and the box of hand-me-down clothes and the old mattress on the floor. Would the twins laugh if they knew that the only toys Harry had played with back then were the ones Dudley had chucked out because of a snapped arm or a missing wheel?

Miserably Harry looked down at the crumbling biscuit in his hand, aware that the silence was stretching again, and that everyone was waiting for an answer. Even little Ginny was staring at him, lemonade from her mug dripping down her front.

Then a hand was resting on his head, ruffling his hair gently.

"Don't worry about it, Harry," Bill said kindly and Harry looked up gratefully into his lean understanding face. "What about some more lemonade, hey? That's if Fred hasn't scoffed the lot."

"There's plenty here!" Fred shot back then poked out his tongue. "Ginny's the one wasting it."

"Am not!" Ginny said indignantly.

"Baby has to have a mug," George taunted and Ginny screwed her face up.

"Mum!" she wailed. "Twins are pickin' on me!"

Harry sat bemusedly as Bill poured him some more lemonade and dropped him a kind wink. Around him Weasleys happened, and inside him his prickling shame drifted away. Bill was soothing Ginny and Charlie was trying to tickle Fred and George at the same time and Ronnie was cheering him on. Neville scooted out of the way of flailing limbs and moved a bit closer to him and Harry was glad to have his friend lean against his arm and raise his eyebrows in worried dismay at the feuding bunch.

"All right you lot!" Mrs Weasley roared. "Pack it in right now or it's bed for the lot of you!"

"It's all right, mum," Bill called over. "I'll keep them in line." He grinned again and Harry shot him an admiring look, noticing suddenly how tall the bigger boy was. Ronnie was very lucky to have a big brother like Bill.

Of course, he also had big brothers like Fred and George, and Harry wasn't at all sure yet whether that was good thing.

888

"So, young fella," Algy Longbottom said, waving his glass at Snape. "Saw you made the newspaper again."

Snape shrugged, hoping to discourage the old wizard. He rather felt he'd put up with enough today, listening to Lupin.

"Bloody Daily Prophet." Algy took a drink and scowled behind his moustaches. "I write them a letter nearly every bloomin' week and they don't print it, then they put some holiday snap on the front page!"

"Language, Algy, please," Mrs Longbottom scolded. "Although I do agree with you about the Prophet. I hardly think a grainy picture of the Boy Who Lived on holiday constitutes front page news."

"It's not like everyone doesn't know he's been living at Hogwarts," Molly interjected. "I've had other parents writing to me about it all year, wondering if I'd heard the same stories they had."

"Even saw a muggle newspaper clipping," Algy boomed. "Old friend of mine sent me one." He turned to Mrs Weasley. "Their pictures don't even move, gel," he confided. "Can you imagine that?"

"I had a few folks ask me about the muggle news articles," Arthur Weasley said with authority. "They knew I worked with muggle artefacts and thought I might have seen them. As I said at the time, unless it explodes when unfolded or reads you when you try to read it I wouldn't have anything to do with muggle newspapers."

"Arthur went out and bought one in the end, didn't you, Arthur?" Molly said proudly.

"Found a muggle coin once," Arthur admitted modestly. "Called a pound, although I weighed it and I have to tell you it weighed nothing like as much as a pound."

"Muggles," Algy said in exasperation and Arthur nodded fondly.

"Always getting something wrong," he agreed.

"They said some awful things about Harry's aunt and uncle," Molly said in a hushed voice. "The muggle Aurors wanted to arrest them, but they hadn't enough evidence."

"Please men," Arthur corrected her. "Muggles don't have Aurors."

"Should have clapped them in irons," Algy boomed. He squinted at Snape. "I'm surprised you didn't curse them, young fella."

"The trouble with cursing muggles," Snape drawled. "Is that it's so hard to stop at just one."

"And the last thing Harry needed was his father in Azkaban," Dumbledore pointed out gently. "Which is where cursing muggles usually ends up, right, Arthur?"

"Well, it should," Arthur admitted. "But you'd be amazed at how many excuses people can come up with for it. For example, last week..."

He launched into some tedious story about his tedious job and Snape tuned him out, wondering how soon he could drag Harry away from this. He'd done his duty, Harry had had his party, and now Snape was looking forward to their nice quiet rooms and a long soak in the bath with the possibility of an early night.

The children had finished their snack and once again from around the house could be heard blood curdling yells and screams of laughter.

Snape amended his thought. Harry still sounded like he had energy to burn. Might as well let him burn it off here.

888

An hour later Snape was wishing he'd carried Harry away when he had the chance. Before the boy waved good bye to Neville and his family as they stepped into the fireplace. Before he chattered his good byes to the remnants of the Order of the Phoenix. Before he gave away a secret even his father hadn't known.

"How on earth did you get yourself so dirty, Harry?" Molly chided, brushing ineffectually at the boy's new jeans.

"Harry just has a knack, don't you, Harry?" Lupin teased, ruffling coal black waves.

Ronnie was knuckling his eyes and leaning up against Bill's legs, and the bigger boy was chuckling as Harry ducked away from the teasing hand.

"That's probably my fault," Bill admitted. "Harry was hiding in a hedge when we were playing. He nearly got away from me though!"

"I slithered like a snake," Harry boasted, arms full of presents, his new cloak still wrapped around his thin shoulders. "Like my friend the snake who was living in the hedge."

"You spotted a snake in our hedge, Harry?" Molly said, looking alarmed. "I hope you kept away from it, we've had adders around here before."

"Poisonous snakes," Snape explained as Harry looked up at him questioningly.

"Oh this snake wouldn't have bit me," Harry said confidently. "He was nice." The little boy wrinkled his nose and chuckled. "He said I smelled like a snake with two legs! Isn't that funny?"

Snape froze, something in his chest seizing, his eyes instantly flying to Dumbledore's.

Molly was chuckling and Lupin patted his shoulder.

"Talking snakes now is it, Harry? I hope you answered back."

"I did," Harry said, frowning a little as Bill and Charlie joined in the laughter.

"That's enough, Harry," Snape said sharply. "It's time we were going home."

"But I did answer him, daddy," Harry insisted and one by one the adults in the room stopped laughing. "We had a good chat and he let me pat him and everything."

Ronnie was still yawning and the twins and Percy were over by the fireplace, heads together, not paying attention. But Bill wasn't chuckling any more, his face had grown serious, his eyes on his mother and then darting to Harry and to Snape.

Lupin's hand clutched on Harry's shoulder and the little boy squirmed.

"Ouch," Harry protested.

"Oh, sorry, Harry," Lupin said automatically, his husky voice faltering.

"Professor Dumbledore," Molly said weakly, but Dumbledore held up one hand.

"There's a time and place for discussion, Molly, and this isn't it." He glanced at a solemn Bill and a confused looking Charlie, then his eyes met Snape's once more. There was no twinkle in them now, they were deadly serious. "You understand that, Severus. The need for discussion."

Snape thrust his hand in his pocket and clutched at a handful of Floo powder. With a flick of the wrist he flung it into the fire and the flames seemed to exhale and turned green. For a moment it was as if the occupants of the cosy little room were under water, flickering green flames lit up their faces, painting sinister shadows on concern.

"You know where to find us," Snape said coldly. He lifted Harry, armful of gifts and all. "Close your eyes, Harry," he ordered. Then he stepped into the fire and left them all behind.

888

"What was that about birthday hugs, Harry?" Snape asked as he tucked a clean and yawning Harry into bed.

Harry looked a little self conscious. "Everyone used to hug Dudley so much on his birthday he complained they were squeezing his bones!" The boy frowned a little. "Course Dudley complained about everything," he added.

"No doubt," Snape said dryly. "Birthday hugs, hmm? I'm not sure that's an entirely muggle tradition but it is one I'm unfamiliar with."

"Oh," Harry said, fingers fiddling with the tasseled counterpane.

Snape held out his arms. "Show me," he commanded and Harry's mouth turned up and he fairly leapt up and wrapped thin arms around his father's neck. Snape caught him and held him close. "How's that?" he murmured and Harry nodded his tousled head.

"You're definitely squeezing my bones," he said in satisfied tones.

Snape loosened his hold a little and tucked the boy back snugly under the light summer covers. "That's another new thing I've learned," he said, smoothing the cool cotton carefully. He tried to keep his expression casual. "So, you chatted with a snake, did you?"

"Was that okay?" Harry said hesitantly. "Everyone was really funny about it. You're not mad are you?"

"I'm not mad," Snape said honestly. "I'm just curious. Was this a real chat, Harry, or a pretend one?"

"It was really real," Harry insisted. "Don't all wizards talk to snakes then, daddy?" he asked innocently.

Snape brushed back a lock of hair, thumb brushing the pink crooked scar.

"Only the very special ones," he answered, just as honestly.


	14. Chapter 14

_There were some things Harry knew. He knew how to fly. He didn't have the vocabulary to put it into words, but somehow he had known how to fly even before he'd been taught. As if something inside of him had already flown, and when it was shown how had awoken and exclaimed: 'Of course!'_

Snape sat at the table, listening to the ticking of the hallway clock. It seemed loud in the silence of their rooms, echoing on the old stone floors and rounded walls. Just a few hours ago he'd sat right here, his only worry whether he'd missed out on some important muggle birthday ritual.

Birthday hugs! Trust Harry to become fixated on such an idea. Once his loathsome cousin had been hugged on his birthday. Once dear Dudley had his pictures put up on the wall, or had an A on a report card admired, or some other minor childish achievement he had been showered with approval for. And somewhere on some inner score card Harry had recorded and remembered it.

Harry had a fine memory for slights and grudges, Snape considered. It was a trait he shared with his father.

Not all his traits were inherited from his father.

Either of his fathers.

One long fingered hand stroked idly over the leather cover of the large book in front of him. A stylised tree was embossed upon it and beneath it a name in old fashioned letters. Not all traits were recorded in the traditional manner.

A small magical ward chimed to inform Snape that Dumbledore was climbing the stairs to their tower room. For just a moment the younger wizard wished he could ignore this confrontation. Sometimes he really missed the days when responsibilities were more easily ignored.

"Severus," Dumbledore greeted, stepping lightly into the dimly lit room. "I thought you might still be up and brooding." He sat at the table and cupped the small china pot. "Tea's gone cold. Fancy a fresh cup?"

Snape resumed his seat while the old wizard conjured up a fresh pot.

"Cheer up, Severus," Dumbledore said softly. "It's not as bad as all that, is it?"

"Isn't it?"

"Well, it could have been a lot worse. At least we were among friends." He cast a look over Snape's shoulder into the dim hallway. "Perhaps a small silencing spell? In case Harry awakens?"

"I'll know if Harry wakes up," Snape said shortly. "He's had some disturbed nights, so I charmed his night light to let me know if he's troubled."

"Poor Harry!" Bushy white brows rose comically. "I can see there won't be many secrets for the lad as he grows up!"

"Some secrets should be kept," Snape said bleakly.

Dumbledore contented himself with a shrug and a nod at the book Snape's long fingers were stroking. "A little light reading?"

"My genealogy." Snape traced a potion stained fingertip over the embossed tree. "I can trace my mother's line back 800 years," he said dully. "Every witch or wizard's life laid out." His lips twisted. "The noble and distinguished Snape family lineage is a little more difficult, illustrious and renowned as it is."

"But I gather you would have heard if there'd been a parselmouth amongst them?"

Snape suppressed a wince. He hadn't even been allowing himself to frame the word in his head. "One assumes it would have been known," he replied stiffly. "However one could also understand the suppression of such news."

"Alas yes," Dumbledore agreed. "Our world can be harsh for those who don't fit neatly into it." He sat back in his chair, stroking his long white beard thoughtfully. "I've often thought it a much maligned gift, parseltongue. I mean, to speak to another creature in his own language is surely a wonderful ability! One that should be celebrated."

"Perhaps if it was dear little pussy cats or puppy dogs one was speaking to," Snape said snidely. "But the snake has long enjoyed its status as a symbol of darkness. As have those of us connected with it..." Restlessly he stood and wandered to the window, leaning over the wide stone ledge and peering out at the moonlit night. "He kept snakes," he said lowly. "His eyes and ears he called them. His spies."

"Yes." The old wizard's tone was sober. "You understand of course that Harry probably wasn't born with this ability."

The night was warm but the old stone walls seem to carry their own chill within them and Snape shivered a little.

"I've done a some research on curse scars, over the years," Dumbledore continued. "Little has been written on the subject. But there is some speculation that it is not only the receiver of such scars who is marked. The one giving it loses something... Gives something, albeit unwillingly."

Snape found his voice. "And what else did he give?" he managed. "This dormant... gift, as you call it. What else lies dormant within Harry? What else might awaken?"

There, he'd said it. Voiced the thought seething in his brain these last sleepless hours. Voiced the thought that must occur to everyone who knew the truth of this matter.

"It's a valid question," Dumbledore allowed. Snape shot him a look of loathing, sometimes he hated the old fool his balanced fairness. It was support he wanted now, not lively debate.

"Do you have some kind of answer?" Snape gritted out from between clenched teeth.

"Honestly, dear Severus! Do you need one?"

Snape's head shot around at the chiding tone, his hands clenching into fists.

"Calm down, boy and think," Dumbledore said, voice serious now. "No one in the world knows our Harry the way you do! If you haven't the sense to look inside yourself for what's obvious, then look inside your son. Is there any darkness there?"

Snape blinked at the hard tone.

"Well?" Dumbledore challenged. "Is there? One drop of darkness, one iota? One smidgeon?"

Blindly Snape turned back to the darkened window, finding his own dim reflection in the mullioned pane. He closed his eyes against the sight, turning the question inside himself, his heart easily conjuring memories of the small boy who had invaded and occupied his entire life.

_"Are you my father?"_

_"You won't go anywhere while I'm asleep, will you?"_

_"I have bits of all of you in me, don't I, daddy?"_

"Can we do some more potions some time? It was the best fun we've had together, wasn't it?"

"Now you're not alone any more, are you, daddy?" 

"No," Snape admitted softly. He opened his eyes and sought his own gaze again, somehow clearer now against the darkness outside. "No, there's no darkness in Harry."

"Of course there isn't," Dumbledore said comfortably from his chair and Snape blinked and shuttered his face again before turning to the old wizard. He'd half forgotten he was there.

"But that doesn't mean there isn't something more there, something else given him that night," Dumbledore warned. "What we must remember, dear Severus, is that power is neither good nor evil. It simply is. What we do with it however..."

888

_There were some things Harry knew. He knew how to talk to snakes. No one had shown him how, he just spoke and they listened. He was too young to understand the wonder of it, or to wonder about it. He thought it was cool._

Harry propped his elbows up on the stone window ledge and gazed miserably out at the dull morning.

"Why does it have to rain on my swimming lesson day?"

"At least it was fine on your birthday, Harry," Snape said patiently, sorting through his lesson plans for the upcoming term.

"Can't we swim anyway?" Harry said pleadingly. "If I wear my togs down to the lake? We'll get wet anyway, right?"

"Don't wheedle, Harry," Snape corrected automatically. "And it's not a matter of getting wet. The lake will be too rough to swim in today."

"Will Mr Lupin come anyway?"

Snape laid his paperwork down and shot Harry a quick look. It had never occurred to him until the last few minutes that Lupin wouldn't come, even if the swimming lesson was out of the question. But now he had to consider what he would do if the tutor didn't show up. Surely finding out about Harry's ability couldn't have affected Lupin's opinion of him?

Memories played in Snape's mind and he found himself less sure. Hadn't he always known the Gryffindor a craven coward?

"Remember Mr Lupin is taking his own holiday soon," he contented himself with reminding his son.

"To the seaside," Harry recalled. With a last longing look at the grey day Harry sighed and trotted over to lean on his father's knee. "I've never been to the seaside, daddy. Have you?"

"Long ago." Snape automatically straightened Harry's collar and tsked at the dusty cobwebs on his shoulders. Harry managed to find nooks and crannies to explore that even house elves didn't clean. "My mother had a house in Cornwall that you might like. Perhaps we'll visit one day."

The distraction worked and Harry was convinced to fetch an atlas so his father could point the place out on a map.

"It is near the sea," Harry exclaimed as Snape pointed to a tiny smudge of a village on the coast.

"It's almost a part of the sea," Snape recalled. "There's a passage in the stone wall that leads down to a cave under the house. The waves lap right up onto the dark rocky shore of the cave and when the tide is out a small boat can sneak out to sea."

Thrilled, Harry's eyes widened behind his glasses and he gazed back down at the village. "Can we really go there one day?"

"I've a pair old great aunts who live there now," Snape said carelessly. "Perhaps they wouldn't mind us landing ourselves on them towards the end of the holidays. Shall I write?"

"Oooh, yes!" Harry exclaimed. "The seaside! The seaside! I'll get your letter box, daddy!"

Satisfied that Harry was sufficiently distracted Snape let the boy fetch his little wooden desk and settled down to write the request. But inside he was seething.

Lupin still had not come.

888

Neville's gift to Harry for his birthday had been a colouring book of extraordinary size. Within it were pictures of dragons and pirate ships and Quidditch matches that would appeal to any child, but especially one of Harry's temperament. Unfortunately the cover was graced with a brightly coloured portrait of a parrot that was designed to give advise to the budding artist.

"Blue would look best!" The parrot squawked. "Bacaw!"

"Anyone can colour the sky blue," Harry said loftily, selecting a purple crayon.

"But the sky is blue!" the parrot said pedantically. "Bacaw."

"But I like purple." Firmly pushing the cover back down Harry set to work on the sky while flat against the table the painted bird protested noisily.

Snape left Harry arguing with his colouring book while Pickle bustled about the place tidying the endless plethora of damp tracks and sticky finger prints. It was amazing really how fond the house elves were of the boy considering the amount of mess they had to clean up after him.

Reflecting that this was the last place he wanted to be going Snape stomped irritably down the stairs and made his way to the suite of rooms he had discovered belonged to the tutor. The door opened to his sharp rap.

"I don't like you," he said coldly when Lupin opened the door.

Lupin blinked. "Um, er. What?"

"I said I don't like you," Snape repeated coldly. "I have never liked you. But I was willing to give you a chance, despite my better judgement."

"Now wait a minute," Lupin said, recovering himself a little. "Give me a chance? You would have seen me out on my ear, it's Dumbledore who gave me a chance! And I've proved myself-"

"Oh, you've proved yourself!" Snape said holy. "Proved you're just as capable of blind prejudice as the next wizard!"

"Prejudice!" Lupin shouted back. "Hark at the kettle calling the pot black! Prejudice he says? When you set your mind against me the moment you found out what I was-"

"That being the moment you tried to kill me, you mean?"

"I never-"

"Oh, yes!" Snape over rode Lupin's instant denial. "That was all your friend Potter's idea, wasn't it?"

"You have no idea what you're talking about!" Lupin burst out, poking his finger into Snape's shoulder. "You have never known what you're talking about! He saved your bloody life, you arrogant fool!"

Snape swept the intrusive finger away from him and had his hand on his wand before he even knew it.

"Touch me again, werewolf," he hissed. "And you will draw back a stump."

Lupin froze, his amber eyes fixed on the wand. "Always quick with a curse, Severus," he said more quietly, flicking his glance back to Snape's face. "Before you hex me to oblivion suppose you tell me what I've done to deserve this dose of vitriol?"

Snape sneered, wishing he could curse Lupin to oblivion. Wishing for a moment he had them all before him now, all those shining Gryffindor hypocrites, so quick to judge and slow to forget.

"Harry," he ground out. "Is too young to understand that some people judge you by what you are rather than what you do. He's too young to understand that someone he... he cares for... could turn against him for something he can't help."

Lupin's threatened look faded to shock and then incredulity. "You think I... Because Harry's a...?" He blinked and shook his head, fair greying hair rustling. "You bloody Slytherin fool."

Snape's grip on his wand tightened. "You're denying it?"

"Yes I'm bloody denying it!" Lupin shouted. "As if I would judge anyone like that! I who have suffered such judgments all my life!"

Unwilling and indeed unable for the moment to give up his rage Snape lowered his wand a little.

"Severus," Lupin said in exasperation. "I love Harry. I couldn't love him more if he was my own. I don't care if he's a parselmouth or a werewolf or a bloody Snape for that matter! I couldn't stop loving him or think any the less of him!"

"Then why didn't you come today?" Snape demanded, wand hand dropping to his side.

Lupin swore under his breath and looked back over his shoulder into his room. Behind him Snape could see a battered suitcase on a table, heaped high with clothes and various other items.

"I forgot the time," Lupin said in exasperation. "I must admit since yesterday my head's been all over the place and what with my packing and my distraction..." He shrugged ruefully. "I just forgot the time."

Snape wanted to call him a liar and curse him anyway but the fool was just standing there with his hands outspread and an apologetic expression on his face.

"Look, why don't you come in and have a cup of tea?"

Snape stepped back, slipping his wand back into his pocket.

"I've left Harry with a house elf," he said shortly. Normally he'd answer such an invitation with the sarcasm it deserved but he was feeling unaccountably... something. Guilty was too strong a word, sorry too weak.

"You can't blame me for jumping to the obvious conclusion," he said, wishing that had come out firmer.

"Can if I want." Lupin leaned against the door jamb and sighed wearily. "Why do you have to make everything so hard?"

"I told you," Snape muttered. "I don't like you."

"So you weren't at all angry at me on your own behalf?" Lupin probed. "Not the least bit disappointed in me except for Harry's sake?"

"Actually I was just surprised you hadn't shown your true colours before now."

Lupin just stared at him, one brow raising. "So. An apology is out of the question then?"

"I have to get back to Harry," Snape returned, letting his rudeness speak for him.

"Severus?" Lupin called and Snape paused and looked over his shoulder. "You asked me once what my life might have been like, if I'd been sorted into a different house. I almost asked you the same question right back."

Now Snape's brow rose. He'd never considered such a question. He'd never considered not being a Slytherin.

"I think what you were really asking is why I was friends with them. Because even I know I never really fitted in. Didn't make a very good Marauder."

Curious despite himself Snape turned and surveyed the young man he'd known for more than half his life, and despised almost as long.

"It's because when they found out my secret they didn't judge me, or abandon me. They... cared for me. I spite of what I was." Lupin shrugged again, his amber eyes dark with old memories. "I know what that's worth. And that's how I feel about Harry."

Snape made his way back to his tower, thoughts deep. Perhaps he'd felt a little guilty. Maybe even a little sorry.

Of course, he hadn't said so.

888

_There were some things Harry knew. He knew his father loved him. No one had had to teach him that, and it wasn't something he'd always known. He'd figured it out all by himself. For someone who couldn't ever remember anyone loving him in his life, it was quite an achievement. Long before his dad had said the words aloud Harry had known. He hadn't really needed the words by then, but he'd thought they were nice to hear._

Harry finished the picture and surveyed it with satisfaction. He didn't care what the colouring book said, purple sky and red bushes looked pretty good to him. Who said all bushes were green anyway?

"I suppose it's not too bad," the parrot admitted grudgingly as Harry closed the book carefully. "Bacaw."

"You don't have any pictures of snakes in your book," Harry said curiously.

"Snakes!" The parrot's crest rose and fell dramatically. "Who wants to colour in snakes? Dreadful creatures. Bacaw."

Harry rolled his eyes and carried the book back to the shelf, pushing it firmly in amongst the other books. He ignored the annoying bird's protesting squawk. Sometimes pictures that talked to you could be fun. But sometimes they were just a pain.

His dad pushed open the door and Harry rushed over to him.

"Well? Did you see him?"

His dad just stared for a moment. "See who?"

"Mr Lupin," Harry said impatiently. "What did he say? Why didn't he come?"

"He, er, he forgot the time," his dad said shortly. "How did you know that's where I went?'

Harry shrugged. "Where else would you go? You said you wouldn't be long so I knew you weren't brewing potions."

"You know too much sometimes."

Harry laughed, knowing when his dad was being serious and when he wasn't.

"So is he coming to see me before he goes?"

"He didn't say." His dad said as he headed for his room. Then in the doorway he paused. "But I'm sure he will."

And Harry believed him. Because he knew his dad wouldn't tell him something that wasn't true.

He just knew it.


	15. Chapter 15

Harry yawned and stretched with his eyes still closed, enjoying the feeling of the afternoon sunlight behind his closed lids. Snuffling into his pillow he lifted his head and slowly opened his eyes, looking around his bedroom blearily.

He was thirsty. What was he doing asleep in the daytime anyway?

Recollection drifted back and he turned over, huffing angrily. He had told his dad not to let him fall asleep, and then he'd gone and let him doze off. And even worse he'd carried him in here and laid him on the bed.

Harry scrambled to a sitting position and surveyed his sock clad toes.

And he'd taken his shoes off.

"Bugger," Harry whispered, just because he knew it would drive his dad nuts if he heard him. Then he looked around guiltily because sometimes it really did seem like his father had eyes in the back of his head, and after a few months in the wizarding world this didn't sound as unlikely as it once had.

Where was his dad anyway? Harry knew he wouldn't be far away, he'd promised him once when Harry was scared that he would never go away and leave him, and Harry believed him with all his heart. His daddy had been really sad that night, he'd cried and everything. Harry hadn't even thought grown ups could cry, but his dad had, real sad tears.

Funny thing was that when his father cried it made Harry feel a little better. He wasn't sure why.

Quiet on sock clad feet Harry crept down the hall and peered into the sitting room. There was his dad all right, and it looked like Harry wasn't the only baby still taking naps. Book spread open and propped on his chest Harry's daddy was fast asleep, soft little snores ruffling the long strands of hair that fell around his face.

Boldly Harry crept over to him, weighing his options. He could say 'boo' and make his dad jump a mile, Dudley used to do that to his father when Uncle Vernon was sleeping in the backyard with his hanky over his face.

But that seemed kind of mean, and Harry didn't want to be mean like Dudley was.

He could go into the kitchen and help himself to chocolate cake, but there wasn't really much thrill filching food these days, when all he had to do was call Mr Pickle and he had more cakes than he could eat.

Growing bored with his thoughts Harry leaned on the arm of his dad's chair and surveyed his sleeping face thoughtfully. He remembered waking up that first morning with his dad, after falling asleep on the purple bus. He remembered running his finger down this stranger's nose and wondering if they looked alike.

Harry touched a finger down his own nose. Would he look like his father when he grew up? He hoped so. He wanted people to know who he belonged to, and not have them saying how much he looked like his other dad. Maybe when he grew his hair long, Harry considered. Maybe then people would say he looked like his real father.

Harry's stomach growled and he licked his lips, wondering if he should call Pickle after all, and get some food. He had some biscuits in his bottom drawer, they'd been there for ages and Harry couldn't even remember what he'd been saving them for. Maybe he could munch on a few of them, and then his dad would probably wake up and they could do something together.

Make a potion maybe, or go for a walk. Daddy didn't like card games much, and he said he didn't know how to play cars, but that was okay. Even when Harry played by himself he was happy as long as his father was there, reading or writing in his books. Just to look up and see him there made Harry feel... happy somehow.

Mind made up Harry crept back into his bedroom and plopped onto the carpet by his bed, sliding open the bottom drawer and pulling out the tin of biscuits. Honeyduke's. Harry could read that name though it was a long one. The writing was all gold and curly with little honey bees buzzing around the letters. Honeyduke's Chocolate Assortment.

Harry sounded all the words out in his head and grinned widely as he pried the lid off. Those were all long words but he was a good reader, all his teachers said so. It was the best thing he did, next to flying a broom. He was a natural at that.

Three biscuits later Harry's tummy was a little fuller and his first urgent hunger had faded. Now he paused thoughtfully as he chose his next biscuit, admiring the curious shapes and artful swirls of chocolate atop them. He leaned back against the chest of drawers and sighed happily, thinking about nothing more than how good the next biscuit would taste.

When on the wall the tapestry moved, just a little.

Harry froze with the biscuit at his lips, eyes widening behind his glasses. He knew the ghosts could come through walls, he'd seen them in the Great Hall and sometimes in the corridors. He didn't like the ghosts but his dad had told him he'd forbidden them to come into the tower and so far none had. At night Harry drew his curtains around him tightly and so far the ghosts had stayed away. But even as he watched now the tapestry swayed just a little.

Harry wondered if he should call out for his dad. He was only just down the hall, he'd certainly hear him and come running. He resolved that he would, if a ghost even peeked through his wall then Harry would call for his dad and his dad would get his wand out and make a huge spell to scare it away!

Just thinking about it made Harry feel a little better and his breathing evened out a little as he kept his eyes glued on the great colourful tapestry, waiting for the first sign of a intruding ghost. Then he felt the tiniest puff of air around his knees and the corner of the tapestry swayed a little and all of a sudden Harry knew what it was. It was just a breeze stirring the corner! Of course it was! Ghosts couldn't move things or even touch them, his dad had told him that when he'd told Harry he didn't have to be afraid of them, not even the Bloody Baron with his spooky staring eyes.

But where was the breeze coming from? The window was on the other wall and the afternoon was airless and hot. Besides, if there was a breeze through the window it wouldn't move the tapestry right over there, would it?

Curiousity took over and Harry scooted along the floor on his hands and knees, leaving the soft silky carpet by his bed and wincing at the stone of the floor beneath his knees. It wasn't really rough, too many feet had worn it down over the years, but it was hard and chilly, even on a bright summer day. Harry tweaked the corner of the tapestry aside and instantly felt the slightly cooler breeze on his cheeks, vying with the cold of the floor.

Sensitive fingers searched and were rewarded by a seam in the stone wall, wide enough that his small fingers could probe into it, following the groove along and around a rounded corner. Thrilled, Harry's fertile imagination supplied the answer. A secret passage!

He should have known! Didn't all castles have tunnels and secret rooms and treasure? Why, there was probably a chest of gold or something behind this door! If only he could find the way to open it, if only he could find... Small agile fingers reached a deeper groove and excitedly Harry pushed, feeling rather than hearing a heavy click as something swung free. And then Harry was jumping back as the stone panel swung noiselessly open, revealing a small dark chamber beyond.

Breathless with excitement Harry peered in, finding himself looking around the curve of the old stone wall into a tunnel. So he had been right! A secret passage leading to who knew where? And he was the only one who knew about it, probably in a hundred years. Oh, how he wished Neville was here to share it with him.

It did look awfully dark in there though, Harry thought as his excitement faltered a little. And dusty too, cobwebs hung down and swayed a little in that soft breeze. Maybe if he went and woke his dad up they could explore it together?

But it was an awfully small opening and the tunnel didn't look much wider. His dad mightn't fit and Harry just knew he wouldn't be allowed to go down on his own. Why, his dad didn't even let him take a bath with the door closed. He treated him like he was still a little baby or something!

Harry didn't have a torch but he had his nightlight and he darted back to his bedside table and scooped it up. He was not a baby, and he was not afraid. Hadn't his dad told him that this castle was the home of wizards? And wasn't he a wizard? There wasn't anything here that would hurt him, and anyway he'd only go a little way in, he could still call his dad if it got scary or anything.

Pausing only to wedge a stool into the opening so it wouldn't slam shut on him, Harry blew gently on his nightlight until it glowed warmly. Then he set his shoulders and peered into the tunnel.

888

Beside Snape's bed a small glass globe chimed softly and began to glow. But down the hall in the sitting room Severus Snape only snored a little more loudly and settled in to catching up on some missed slumber.

888

The tunnel went a little way and Harry shivered as the cobwebs brushed his face. He could only just walk upright but he crouched a little anyway, not wanting to touch the cold black walls. He really wished that Neville was here, although he had the feeling that the other boy would not have accompanied him on this adventure. Neville didn't even like reading scary adventures, and when the hero of the Tales of the Dragon Boy had been facing the scary sea monsters at the end of the book he had hidden his face in his hands and closed his eyes while Mr Lupin read the passage.

Suddenly the light was filling a bigger space ahead and the tunnel had widened into what Harry realised was a small room. There was a low stool, and an old cushion tattered and musty with dust and cobwebs rested on it. Fabric stirred but before Harry could cry out a tiny mouse was peeking out at him with a surprised expression.

"It's all right," Harry assured it in a relieved whisper. "I won't sit on your house. I wonder who put it here?"

There was a table too, and books and other objects, covered with dust and hard to make out in the dim light. Harry held the light closer and exclaimed in surprise. Why, they were toys! Here was a spinning top, its gay colours obscured under the thick dust. And these were jacks, weren't they? Girls at school used to play them. And here... Harry's fingers shaped a leather bag, deciding that the hard round shapes within must be marbles.

Some of the things he couldn't identify and his long fingers explored them curiously, a tube that felt like a telescope, but it was too dark too see anything through it. A round board like the face of a clock, with numbers but no hands. A box with a handle on the side, what did that do? Why on earth were there toys here?

Could they have belonged to the children who used to live here? Mr Lupin had told him that a potion master like his dad had lived here long ago. He'd had lots of children and they'd all grown up in the tower like he and Neville were doing. Mr Lupin said he thought they must have had a jolly time having the whole tower to themselves. Could his bedroom have belonged to one of them? Was his secret tunnel once used by other little children, long ago?

His hand was getting tired holding the light and it was really too dark to see much more. Harry picked up the bag of marbles and stuffed it into his pocket, then he picked up the book nearest him and held it under his arm. With a last look around he turned and walked back down the short passage. He didn't even really need the light in his hand, he could see the bright sunlight of his room slanting into the opening ahead and he quickened his pace and jumped over the stone ledge of the doorway and back into his room.

Now that his adventure was over Harry felt grand and full of himself. He'd explored that dark place all by himself! Just like a hero in one of the exciting books Mr Lupin read to them. And he might not have found treasure and gold, but he had found some pretty exciting things, and later he'd go back for them and explore some more.

Blowing his light out Harry raced for his bed and jumped upon it, bouncing slightly and laughing with sheer joy. The book dropped from under his arm and bounced with him, and Harry shuffled back against the headboard and opened it, ignoring the dust that smeared his hands and his knees as he rested it there.

"Brownlow Jennet," he read slowly, sounding out the words. "Brownlow Jennet, wizard." It was a name! "This book belongs to Brownlow Jennet, wizard," he read. "And none of his sisters is to touch it, especially you, Constance."

Harry sniggered. He liked Brownlow Jennet already, even if he did have a funny name. Although he had noticed that most everybody who was a wizard had a funny name, and so did the places and the shops. In fact when you were a wizard and not a ordinary boy, Harry probably seemed like a funny name.

A board creaked in the hall and Harry shoved the book under his pillow and stuck his head out of the curtains.

"Ah, you're awake," his dad said and Harry nodded, eyes darting to the tapestry. The stool still wedged the door open but the big heavy cloth had dropped back down and mostly covered it.

"Harry!" his father continued, reaching for the curtain and pulling it aside. "What on earth have you been doing? You're covered with dust and cobwebs. Have you been under your bed again?"

"No," Harry answered honestly. If only he'd thought to close the door! He really wanted to go back into the secret room and he just knew his dad wouldn't let him. Mostly Harry liked that his dad looked out for him and protected him. It felt good and it sometimes still surprised him. But right now he wanted to hug this secret to himself a while longer, and maybe share it with Neville when he came back.

"Honestly," his father scolded. "I've never met a child for getting so dirty. Well, I was going to take you for a walk but now I think it's straight into the bath for you, young man."

"Oh, daddy!" Harry exclaimed, thrusting himself through his curtains, secret tunnel forgotten. "Can we still go for a walk? I'll wash really fast."

"Thorough is better than fast, Harry," his dad said, but his big hand tousled Harry's hair so Harry knew he wasn't really scolding. Although then he was staring down at his hand and the cobwebs and dust on it so Harry thought he'd better hurry to the bathroom and not push his luck.

888

They walked down the lake and around its edge, stopping to skim stones on the tranquil surface and so Harry could paddle his feet in the shallows. Then they found some plants his dad had been looking for so they picked some leaves and Harry's hat became a basket so they wouldn't get bruised. Harry was tired but happy when he hung his coat up in the hallway and raced to the bathroom to wash his hands.

"Supper will be here soon," his dad called. "I'm just going to take these leaves down to my lab. Behave yourself while I'm gone. And Harry?" Peering round the door into the bathroom Harry's father looked down his long nose at him. "Try not to get dirty again in the five minutes I'm away. Please?"

This reminded Harry about his tunnel and he promised his dad he'd stay clean and then waited until the door closed behind him. Then he raced into his room and dragged the footstool away from the tunnel's entrance. The door didn't move until Harry swung it back around, and then, as silently as it had opened it was closed, the seam barely showing except to sharp eyes who knew it was there.

Harry scuttled back to the bed and tugged the book out, careful not to smear the dust all over his clean hands this time. He didn't have long before his dad was back, and he'd already decided to hide the book under his tin of biscuits in his bottom drawer. But before he did he opened it up again and turned past the page where Brownlow Jennet had signed his name and written the warning to his sisters, especially Constance.

There was a photograph on the next page and Harry gazed in delight at the children looking back at him. He counted ten, some as tall as Bill Weasley, some smaller than him. Then he counted eleven when he noticed the tallest one holding a baby in her arms. It was no wonder he'd missed it, the tiny thing looked like a ruffled pillow in a baggy hat that tied under her chin and a frilly robe.

There were lots of frilly robes actually, and it was for this reason that Harry knew which of the children was the owner of this book. From tallest to smallest there were ten girls in the picture, bows and hats and lacy collars abounded. And in their midst was one scowling boy, hair slicked down, hands firmly behind his back.

"Brownlow Jennet," Harry breathed in satisfaction.

"Harry?" His dad was back and Harry stowed his book away and headed back for supper. Exploring the tunnel had been an adventure, and Brownlow Jennet's book looked like it was going to be an adventure too. Harry could hardly wait to explore it.

888

'The hottest August for fifty years!' The Prophet exclaimed, but Snape was so out of sorts with the newspaper he was not inclined to trust a word they had to say. He'd received another owl from Claude Foote, the reporter who'd recognised them while they were away on holidays, demanding a personal interview to 'put the public's mind to rest', as he put it.

Even if Snape hadn't despised the reporter on general principles he would have hated Claude Foote personally. He was the reason why Snape was sticking close to Hogwarts at the moment even though he'd foolishly mentioned a trip to the seaside to Harry.

And Harry was not letting him forget that rash statement. Snape had been distracted, and anxious to distract Harry from thoughts of his absent tutor or he would never have said such a thoughtless thing. Hadn't he resolved not to put Harry at risk again?

But as even Dumbledore had admitted, he couldn't confine the boy to this school forever. The time might come when he had to, but that time was not yet.

Snape fanned himself with the papers he was perusing and yawned. He wasn't sleeping too well at night, head spinning with worries about Harry and whether he was doing the right thing. He'd had another letter too, from an old acquaintance who worked with potions, inviting him to work on a project with him. It was something Snape very much wanted to do, but the new school year was looming and responsibilities already seemed to weigh him down.

How could he take on another one?

Lack of sleep and the drowsing heat took its toll and Snape knew he must have dozed off because the next thing he remembered was jerking awake, his neck stiff and aching. He rubbed it ruefully, reflecting that this was becoming a bad habit. Afternoons should be spent productively, not dozed away. He resolved to wake Harry and take him down to the dungeons for some brewing. It would be cooler down there at least.

The small apartment was quiet and and a quick glance into Harry's room showed the curtain around the bed was drawn back and the rumpled covers flat.

"Harry?" he called out, turning back to the kitchen. This sounded like the silence of mischief to his ears, something every parent became acquainted with sooner or later. He hurried to the small kitchen but stopped on the threshold when he wasn't greeted with the sight of some sticky mess, or more likely Harry's sticky face and an empty cake plate.

"Harry?"

Was the boy in Neville's room? Now Snape was getting worried. He was almost running as he hurried into Neville's room and then his own, calling Harry's name and pulling open cupboard doors.

"Harry, if you're hiding it's not funny!" he said firmly, trying to keep the edge of panic out of his voice. His wards were in place, the front door closed tight, the floos locked, under the beds dusty but empty.

"Harry!"

Heart pounding Snape stood in the hallway, eyes darting around as if they would alight on some vital clue. Under Harry's own bed? He couldn't believe the boy would remain hidden from him, but perhaps he had dozed off? Harry was still young enough to be prone to sudden sleep. Snape knew he'd never forget the sight of Harry nodding off into his rhubarb and custard one night, and only jerking awake when his nose was yellow and sticky.

"Harry!" he bellowed, skidding on the silky carpet of Harry's room as he rushed to the bed and dropped to his knees, pulling up the ruffled bed skirt and peering underneath. "I'm serious, boy, you'd better show yourself right now!"

"Daddy?"

Never had a voice been so welcome, even one as soft and anxious. Snape spun and around and saw to his angry astonishment Harry peering at him from behind one of the heavy old tapestries. Jumping to his feet he grabbed the corner of the hanging and dragged it back, revealing a gaping hole in the wall and a curving passage.

"I heard you call me," Harry said nervously.

Relief gave way to rage and Snape grabbed the boy's shoulders and dragged him bodily through the hole.

"What do you think you are doing?" he yelled.

Harry's eyes widened and filled with tears. Snape shook him roughly and the tears spilled and ran down his cheeks.

"I was just..." Harry said weakly. "My tunnel..."

So angry he could barely form words Snape pushed the boy away before he could shake him again. His hands curved into claws and he clenched them and swung away from Harry's stricken face.

"Tunnel?" he spat out. "You found a hole and crawled into it? Are you a fool, boy?" he demanded. "Don't you know anything might have happened to you in there?" He swung back around. "I couldn't find you!" he bellowed and Harry cringed away from him, face wet with tears, jaw trembling.

"I'm s... sorry," he stuttered but Snape was having none of it, his knees were weak with fear, his temper burning. "Go to bed," he ordered. "In Neville's room," he spat as Harry stared at him. "Where I can be sure you won't crawl down any more holes."

Running tears gave way to sobs and Harry skidded away on his sock clad feet, running from the room and down the hall. Snape felt like crying himself as he sank to the cold stone floor knees finally giving way. His moments of panic still felt as if they were choking him, waking suddenly to find Harry gone like too many of his bitter dreams to be easily borne.

His tunnel! Harry's words rang in his head. When on earth had the boy found it, and what had possessed him to crawl down it? When Snape thought of some of the things that might have lain in wait for a small child behind the stone walls of this ancient place he felt a cold sweat break out all over him.

Over his shoulder a small musty breeze from the passageway ruffled his hair and he sighed and rubbed his face.

Of course he knew what had driven Harry. His parents had been Gryffindors hadn't they? At least two of them had. Foolhardy risk taking that masqueraded as courage. It seemed Harry had inherited that along with his green eyes and knobbly knees. The boy was too bold for his own good. This was something that needed to be nipped in the bud.

But first he'd better go to Harry. He'd been hard on him, harder than he'd ever been. It had been driven by fear but Harry wouldn't understand that. He'd been sobbing his heart out when he left, and Snape felt a prickle of guilt. He hated making his son cry.

Deja vu hit him as he looked into Neville's room, the bed was empty, the room silent. But then his eyes lit on Harry, sitting on the wide window seat, curled up with his face buried in his knees.

"I thought I told you to go to bed," Snape said quietly.

Harry sniffed.

Snape took a step into the room. "I'm sorry you were so upset," he said sincerely. "But you shouldn't have gone into that passage alone."

"You never said I couldn't," Harry muttered.

Snape stopped in his tracks. "I beg your pardon?"

Harry lifted his chin and turned an angry face to him, no less fierce for the swollen eyes and wet cheeks.

"You never said I couldn't explore my room," he said belligerently.

Snape felt his ire rise again.

"I couldn't find you," he snapped. "You scared the life out of me!"

"I came when you called me," Harry said, setting his chin firmly.

"That is not the point." Snape reined his temper in. Harry just didn't understand and it was up to him to explain it, not shout the boy down as he wanted to do. "You could have been hurt-"

"You told me that nothing in this place would hurt me," Harry shot back, unfolding himself and standing up. His little hands were clenched into fists by his side.

Taken aback Snape searched his memory. Had he really said that?

"I'm sure I said that to comfort you," he said carefully. "But I meant that nothing would hurt you when I was around. I wouldn't let you go and explore just anywhere in the castle alone, would I?"

Harry opened his mouth and then closed it again, a trace of uncertainty clouding his features.

"But this was my room." Harry's fingers uncurled and he locked them together in front of him. "I was only playing," he muttered now, eyes down.

Snape risked another step closer. "And I didn't mean to yell at you," he said, and meant it. "It just really frightened me when I couldn't find you."

Harry sniffed again and wiped at his cheek with a trembling hand. "Uh huh," he hiccupped.

"Remember how frightened you were when you couldn't find me that time?" Snape said, taking another step and crouching down by his son. All his anger was gone now, at the sight of Harry so distressed. And the truth was he hadn't told Harry not to explore like that, and he had told him that he would be safe at Hogwarts.

"I 'member," Harry said, sobbing now.

Snape reached out, his own hands trembling as Harry flinched away from him.

"I'm sorry, Harry," he murmured, letting his hands shape those narrow shoulders again. But this time his touch was gentle and Harry turned into his embrace and leaned against his shoulder.

"I'm sorry too," Harry sobbed into his shoulder and Snape patted his narrow back, lifting him up and cradling him against his chest. He sank down on the window seat and let Harry cry against his shoulder, trying to convey his own apology with the gentle patting and rubbing.

"I have a wicked temper," Snape murmured, making this part of the apology too.

"You... you never yelled at me afore," Harry stuttered against the damp fabric of his collar.

"Of course I have," Snape said, surprised.

Harry shook his tousled head fiercely. "Not like that," he disagreed. "Like you..." he sniffed, rubbing his eyes on the cloth of Snape's coat. "Like you din't like me no more," he finished in a mutter.

Dismayed Snape held him closer. "Oh, Harry," he said wretchedly. "I was angry with you, that's all. Don't you get angry at me? Why, I can think of a number of times you've yelled at me and stamped your foot!"

Surprised, Harry looked up into his father's face, blinking swollen eyes.

"You remember that?" Snape prompted.

Harry pursed his lips and sniffed again. "I suppose," he allowed.

"But you always loved me, didn't you?"

Harry nodded. "I was just mad is all," he explained.

"Well, so was I," Snape said. He bit his lip. "I shouldn't have grabbed you though," he said awkwardly. He touched one of Harry's shoulders gently. "Did I hurt you?"

Harry shook his head. "I was a bit scared," he confessed. "You look scary when you yell." He leaned his head on his father's shoulder and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. "I told Neville that you only got mad at other people, not us."

"I can't promise not to get mad at you, Harry," Snape said carefully. "But I can promise I'll never lay an angry hand on you again. That's a solemn promise."

"But even if you're mad at me, you'll still love me, right?" Harry's wet green eyes begged for reassurance and Snape gave it without a moment's thought. He kissed Harry's frowning little forehead.

"I will always love you," he said, and this was a solemn promise as well. "No matter how angry I may get, even if I yell until my eyes bug out."

Harry giggled damply into his shoulder.

"Even if you do the silliest Gryffindor thing in the whole world." Snape met slightly puzzled eyes and nodded reassurance. "I will love you."

This part Harry understood, and he nodded and squeezed out a small smile.

"I love you too."

888

Snape held his wand aloft and peered around into the curving passageway.

"What on earth possessed you to venture into such a dark little space?" he exclaimed.

Harry looked up at him warily as if checking he wasn't getting angry again, and then shrugged.

"I was being brave," he explained. "Like a hero in a book."

Snape lowered his wand and turned to face his son. "Harry, you must learn there is a difference between being brave and being foolhardy."

Harry frowned in puzzlement. "There is?"

Snape sighed and crouched down to the boy's level, trying to temper his words to a six year old's level as well. "Being brave is when you take medicine even though you know it will taste awful. Or owning up to something even though you might get into trouble."

"I do that!" Harry pointed out.

"Just so. And you are a brave boy."

Harry beamed.

"But you are also foolhardy, Harry, when you take a risk for no other reason that that you want to. When you ignore danger and carry on regardless."

"But I told you." Harry's tone was slightly petulant. "I didn't know I wasn't allowed."

Snape's brow rose and he sought Harry's shifty gaze. "Really? Then why didn't you come and show me the passage when you found it? Why hide it from me for days?"

Harry made a sour face, hunching his shoulders and biting his lip. "Cos I knew you wouldn't let me," he finally admitted.

"Hmm," Snape agreed. "So you at least suspected that you wouldn't be allowed?"

Harry scuffed one foot on the silken carpet. "I suppose,' he said grudgingly. Then he looked up. "Hey, that's being brave, right? Owning up like you said?"

Snape suppressed an urge to laugh at the hopeful expression on his son's face. The boy was irrepressible.

"Don't change the subject," he said sternly. "Now there won't be a punishment for this, I think you've learned your lesson."

Harry looked relieved.

"But I would like you to take another lesson from all this, Harry. If you're tempted to do something you feel has to be kept a secret from me then it's probably something you shouldn't be doing. Right?"

"Uh huh," Harry agreed solemnly.

"So in future if you get this urge... don't do it!"

"But that's no fun, daddy," Harry wailed.

"Nevertheless," Snape said firmly. "Now wait here while I crawl into this small and incredibly filthy little hole you've found. Then I'll seal it up so we won't have this problem again."

"But I want to show it to Neville!" Harry objected. "Oh, please, daddy, it's not dangerous, really it isn't! It's really cool and no one else has one! Not even Ronnie!"

Harry began to explain all the reasons why he should keep his new found hiding place, but Snape's mind tuned him out as it explored a few options on its own. He rose to his feet slowly, glancing back over his shoulder at the small dark passageway, and then back at his son.

Something prickled at his thumbs, some dim presentiment he'd seldom felt before but knew better than to ignore.

"Perhaps a hidden chamber only we two know about might be useful one day," he said softly and half to himself.

Harry broke off his explanation, looking hopeful again. "It might?"

"It must remain a secret though."

"Except for Neville," Harry said swiftly and Snape nodded, still caught up in his thoughts.

"Yes, Neville. But no one else. Mind me, Harry! You're sworn to secrecy!"

Harry looked thrilled. "Ooh, a real secret," he whispered.

Snape looked over his shoulder again and made up his mind. "I'll charm the door with a password."

"This is so cool," Harry breathed. "But what will we use it for, daddy? If it's a secret?"

Snape hardly knew himself and didn't want to speculate further. It was enough not to burn this bridge behind them, enough to have yet another card up his sleeve. For who knew what game might be coming?

"We'll know when we need it," he said lightly, stroking Harry's tumbled hair back from his brow.

"Like when pirates come?" Harry wondered.

"Just so. Now wait here for me while I check it out." He stripped off his coat and looked down at his snowy white shirt ruefully. "And then it will be a bath for both of us, I think."

"I want purple foam," Harry said as Snape illuminated his wand tip once more.

"We'll see."

888

Snape submitted to purple foam and Harry enjoyed their bath immensely, squirming around and splashing up and down the deep shiny tub. The boy had built a submarine to play with while bathing and he happily demonstrated it for his father, explaining how it had to come up to the surface every now and then to fill up with air, like a whale in the ocean.

Snape leaned back against his padded head rest and nodded tolerantly. When Harry was in explanation mode he didn't expect reasoned responses, just the occasional acknowledgment that you were awake.

When he'd applied the sponge to Harry's back he'd checked the boy's shoulders, worried shame driving him to ensure he really hadn't marked the child. Harry was fine, but Snape couldn't help the twinge of regret he felt over losing his temper. He'd been angry, he'd had a right to be angry, but he'd had no right to grab the boy, or frighten him. Being driven by fear was no excuse. Doubtless his own father could have come up with some pretty good excuses as to why he'd felt the need to lash out all those years ago. None of them held water.

Harry paused in his explanation to rub at foam that had dripped into his eye and Snape had to take a moment to wring out a flannel and wipe the sting away. Harry submitted to the slightly rough cloth, half smiling and half grimacing as Snape smoothed it over his forehead and slicked dripping hair back.

"All right, Harry?" he said lightly.

"Uh huh," Harry agreed. "Did I tell you about the torpedoes, daddy? They shoot out of these holes here, like this; vroom! Through the water! Kaboom!"

Snape settled back with a nod again and let the soothing chatter wash over him.


	16. Chapter 16

Snape woke suddenly, instantly aware that he needed to get down to his lab. Inspiration had hit him while he slept, something that hadn't happened to him for months. Fingers itching to test out his ideas in the dungeons Snape was actually half dressed before he remembered it was the middle of the night and that Harry was asleep in the next room.

"Bugger," he muttered, sinking down onto the end of his bed. Could he possibly slip out for just an hour? He dismissed the thought even as it formed. Harry could not be allowed to wake without his father nearby again.

But he really needed to sort this out! He'd had the most marvellous  
idea forming for days and now his sleeping brain had come up with a solution and if he didn't grasp hold of these ideas while they were fresh in his head they might wriggle away, like the silvery little fish Harry tried to catch in the shallows of the lake.

Making up his mind Snape pulled his shirt on and thrust his feet into flat slippers. Harry was a brewer's son and he would be a fine brewer himself one day. He would have to get used to these kinds of nights.

Harry slept with his curtains drawn as usual and Snape quietly parted the folds and sat down beside the boy.

"Harry?" he murmured, smoothing back a wing of tousled black hair. "Wake up, Harry?"

Harry squinted and frowned, burying his face into the folds of his doll's cloak.

"Nya," he mumbled, eyes staying firmly closed.

So much for that idea. Snape shook his head at his slumbering boy, then before he could change his mind he was gathering him up, sheet, doll and all, and resting him against his shoulder. Still Harry didn't wake.

Outside their rooms Hogwarts itself slumbered, portraits snoring in their frames, torches flickering low in their sconces. Snape strode the dim hallways with a confident stride, his mind still buzzing with his ideas. If he was right then he could mix the compound tonight, although he'd need some more exotic ingredients for the next stage. If he was right, if he was right...

The wards on his personal lab unlocked with a muttered spell and Snape transfigured an old wooden bench into a cot for Harry, laid the boy down and tugged the sheet up to his chin.

"Wsflgl," Harry mumbled, cuddling his doll closer and settling with a snuffle into his pillow. Content the boy was safe under his gaze Snape set to work.

Ten minutes later his ingredients were assembled and he was dicing wartweed, one eye on the cauldron coming to the boil over its nest of blue flame. Despite the hour and the haste that had compelled him Snape was truly relaxed and at ease here in his natural environment. This was who he was, this was what he had been made for, not teaching slack jawed nincompoops how to brew a simple potion without blowing their eyebrows off. Here he was happiest in the world. Here he ruled.

It was a complicated compound but he'd been experimenting with it for so long that the main ingredients came together easily under his hands and an hour later he was standing over the cauldron, one hand extended over the brew as the ladle stirred all by itself while he muttered instructions to it. Finally he judged the timing perfect and he swung the cauldron away from the flame and cooled it with a word, watching with satisfaction as it instantly congealed into a dull metallic purple.

Perfect! The first step was complete and if he was right the second step could be competed by the light of the next full moon.

But he couldn't do it alone.

888

"I had the funniest dream last night," Harry said the next morning over a buttered crumpet. "I was flying through the corridors like a ghost. But I wasn't frightened," he assured his father.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Snape ordered automatically. "Harry, how would you like to go shopping with me today?"

"To Hogsmeade?" Harry said excitedly.

"I can't get what I need in Hogsmeade. I was thinking of London, actually."

Harry's eyes widened behind his glasses and he smiled widely. "Can we ride the train? Can I keep the ticket?"

"We'll port key to Diagon Alley," Snape thought aloud. "Then we can catch a muggle train to the apothecary shop I want."

"A muggle train?" Harry said interestedly. "Aren't there wizard trains we could catch?"

"Of course there are wizard trains," Snape said firmly. "But today we'll catch a muggle one."

"I haven't seen a muggle in a long time, have I, daddy?" Harry looked a bit apprehensive. "Is it all right?"

"You have nothing to fear from muggles, Harry. You have nothing to fear from anyone so long as you stay close to me."

"Mrs Taylor was a muggle, wasn't she, daddy?" Harry recalled. "And she was nice."

"I'm sure there are plenty of nice muggles out there," Snape said, not entirely convinced of that fact but unwilling to increase Harry's nervousness. "They just don't have anything to do with us. Now, finish your breakfast and we'll set out. It's a long journey."

"We're going to London!" Harry sang as he buttered another crumpet. "London! London! London!"

"Unless we make too much noise," Snape said repressively. "In which case I will be going to London and you will be staying here with the house elves."

Harry grimaced and settled back in his seat. "We're going to London," he sang again in a much smaller voice. Then he finished his crumpet and juice.

888

They walked to Hogsmeade and stood in a queue for the 10 o'clock port key to Diagon Alley. As they waited Snape gave Harry his last minute instructions in a low voice.

"The port key will transport us to Diagon Alley," he murmured to his attentive son. "All you have to do is hold onto me with one hand and the key with the other."

"Do I keep my eyes closed like in the green fire?"

"No fire will be involved," Snape told him. "But you might want to shut your eyes in case you get dizzy. Now, Harry, remember our rules?"

"Don't talk to strangers," Harry piped up. "Keep my hat on. And stay with you."

"Good boy. Perhaps we might take a look around the toy store when we're finished at the apothecary's," he promised.

"If I behave?" Harry guessed.

"I expect you to behave regardless, Harry." Snape straightened the boy's hat. "If I buy you a toy it's just because I want to, understand?"

Harry beamed. "Yes, daddy."

The port key was a huge stuffed pillow and everyone grabbed a tassel and held on as the clock behind them struck ten. With a pop and curious sensation of tugging they disappeared and reappeared in the narrow alley behind the pub. Harry's hand was clutching his father's so tightly his little fingernails were digging in, and Snape had to pry Harry's other hand off the tasseled pillow so the passengers queuing to return on the 10.15 to Hogsmeade could grab a hold.

"I wish wizards drove cars," Harry grumbled as he clung onto Snape's hand and followed him into the Leaky Cauldron. "Disappearing makes me dizzy."

"You'll get used to it," Snape said absently. "The train station is just across the way. I just have to change some coins for muggle money."

The barman accepted the wizard money and handed Snape a handful of paper and some coins which Snape counted very closely. "Paper money," he muttered scathingly, slipping it into his pocket. "Come, Harry."

Out on the street Harry saw cars and buses up close for the first time in months, and he gazed around him wide eyed as they crossed the quiet street towards the tube station. A bus trundled by and Harry wrinkled his nose.

"I'd forgotten that smell," he said.

"Yes," Snape sneered. "Typical of muggles to poison even the air around them. We're well away from it at Hogwarts."

Harry loved the train. He kneeled up on the seat and looked out the window and stared at the passengers around them and examined the ticket he held clutched in his hand. "I'm glad I wore my jeans," he said fervently. "Nobody else is wearing a suit with a lacy collar or a robe."

"Sit down and do try to behave, Harry," Snape said sternly. "I want you on your best behaviour when we get where we're going. I'm hoping to work very closely with the owner of the apothecary for the next few months, and I don't want him to think I'm raising a hooligan."

"What's a hooligan?" Harry asked curiously.

"A boy with no manners."

"And what's a poth -a- kerry? I forget."

"A shop where I can buy potions ingredients, Harry. But not just any ingredients. This shop stocks some very special magical ingredients, and the owner is a brewer of great fame."

"Like you, daddy?"

"Just so, although our interests are usually quite far apart. Right now I am working on a potion that crosses into his field..." Snape trailed away, and turned to look at Harry's intelligent little face. Sometimes he forgot he was talking to a six year old child. On the other hand he wanted Harry to grow up surrounded by the world of the potion maker, which was why he was bringing him along today. It was time the boy learned that the wonders of the brewing arts began long before a bench and a cauldron.

"Will he come to Hogwarts, daddy?"

"No. Hogwarts has very few visitors. We will visit him when I need to consult him again. And here's our stop."

Tottenham Court Road was bustling and Snape held Harry's hand tightly as they were swept along by the seemingly endless tide of muggles towards Chinatown. Grand Dragon gates guarded its entrance and Harry stared entranced at the writhing figures picked out in flaking gold paint. Snape paced the long road until about halfway down where he turned into an alley which in turn had an alley forking off it. They twisted and turned down increasingly narrow side streets, stepping over rubbish and avoiding towering stacks of crates and boxes.

And then they were there.

No sign adorned the shop front, in its grimy window was a tall golden jar wrapped about its red wax stopper with straw. Snape pushed open the shop door and a bell tinkled somewhere in the depth of the store. He paused to adjust his eyes to the dimness after the bright August sunlight outside and breathed in deeply the scent as familiar to him as his own workshop.

"Pooh!" Harry exclaimed. "It stinks in here!"

Snape rolled his eyes.

888

If the outside was dusty and grimy then the inside was spotless and tidy, with shelves towering up to the ceiling stacked with row after row of jars. Harry peered at the contents of the jars with wide eyed wonder, seeing lizard green and blossom blue and rich blood red. Some of the things in the jars seemed to squirm and Harry pressed closer to his father's leg, half pressing his face into his dad's velvet coat and half peering around in amazement.

"Mr Li," his dad greeted solemnly and Harry looked up at a tall exotic wizard who was inclining his head in return.

"Mr Snape," the wizard greeted smoothly. "Am I to assume by your presence that you have reached the first stage?"

"I have."

Harry gazed in awe at the newcomer. He had never seen anyone quite like him before. Mr Li was tall, as tall as Harry's dad and his hair was just as black. But he wore it in a long plait that lay over his shoulder, entwined with silver charms and tiny bells that shivered a small song as they shifted. He was dressed in black too, but his robes were split down the side and under them Harry could see rich gold and green fabric and bright shining embroidery. Harry was reminded of Professor Dumbledore's grand heavy robes.

Mr Li and his dad were talking earnestly now, bent over the counter between them and peering into a jar his dad had slipped out of his pocket. Harry quickly grew bored, especially when they lapsed in and out of some language he didn't understand.

Harry frowned a little, recalling the couple who lived in a house on the way to his old school back in Surrey. Aunt Petunia had sniffed and said they were foreigners, like it was a disease you could catch if you got too close. Was Mr Li a foreigner then? His dad had said that everything Aunt and Uncle told him was a lie, so maybe even if he was a foreigner that wasn't a bad thing? Harry resolved to ask his father about it when he had the chance.

A movement caught Harry's eye and he stared in surprise at the face of a boy about his own age peering at him through a pair of thick curtains at the back of the store. The boy had a long plait too, and he winked at Harry and mugged a comical face. Then the head withdrew and a hand emerged, decorated with a green bracelet. It beckoned and Harry cautiously let go of his dad's leg and took a step closer.

His father broke off his conversation and looked down at him. "Don't wander too far, Harry," he said absently. "And don't touch anything."

Mr Li was perched on a stool behind the counter now and Snape sat down too, face absorbed, dark eyes alight. Harry assured his dad he would behave but he had the feeling the wizard was barely hearing him, so absorbed was he in his conversation. Shrugging, Harry followed his nose.

He trotted to the back of the store and peered through the curtains, finding a room rich with ornate carpets and hangings. Hogwarts had tapestries, huge ones with ancient scenes and colourful vistas, but even they paled next to the brilliant threads adorning the hangings on these walls. Luminous reds and golds and greens lit up the room and Harry stared entranced at the twisting serpents and dragons depicted in colours that made his eyes ache.

"Hi," a voice said and Harry started and turned to look at the boy who had made faces at him through the curtains.

"Hi," Harry said automatically. The boy was as richly dressed as Mr Li, in a long robe of rich blue, its collars, cuffs and hems heavy with gold embroidery. Atop his glossy black hair sat a sky blue cap with a gold tassel.

"I'm Li," the boy said, thrusting out his hand. "Li Shen Sun."

"Um, I'm Harry," Harry said, mindful of his instruction not to tell anyone his last name. He reached out with his own grubby paw and the two boys shook hands solemnly.

"Is that your dad?" Harry said, pointing back though the curtains the way he'd come.

"Uh huh." The boy looked him up and down and Harry suddenly wished he was wearing his velvet suit. The boy looked so smart in his robe, like a proper boy wizard and not at all girly despite the knee length robe. Perhaps it was the splits down the side revealing the long pants, or the soft little black shoes. Somehow fitting in with the muggles on the train didn't seem nearly as important now as looking like a wizard should.

"And I know that's your dad," Li said knowledgeably. "Because my father said he was coming. He respects Mr Snape, and he doesn't respect many wizards."

Harry's chest swelled with pride. "I think my dad likes your dad too," he confided. "He was really polite to him, and my dad isn't polite to anybody. Um, is this where you live?"

"Our house is over the shop," Li shrugged. "Want to see some magic?"

Thrilled, Harry nodded. "Sure!"

Li pulled a strip of paper from his pocket and held it between two fingers. Harry tilted his head and peered at it curiously. It was just thin white paper with some funny scribbles on it. Li muttered something and suddenly the paper flared and bright ash rained down. For a moment it hung in the air then it assumed the shape of a long thin dragon and danced on the air currents. As Harry exclaimed in wonder Li opened up his hand and the ash dragon danced over his palm, weaved through his fingers and then crumbled away, disappearing into nothingness.

"Wow," Harry breathed. "That was so cool! How did you do that?"

Li shrugged modestly. "My father wrote the spell," he confessed. "For me to practice with."

"You are so lucky," Harry said enviously. "I can only do magic when I'm making a potion, and I don't even have a wand yet." He studied his new friend curiously. "Where's your wand?"

Li tumbled down onto a cushion on the floor and Harry squatted next to him easily.

"We don't have wands," Li confided. "We have different magic, I think."

"But what about when you come to Hogwarts?" Harry said in dismay. "Everyone has wands there."

"What's Hogwarts?" Li asked curiously.

Harry gaped. He couldn't imagine a wizard not knowing about Hogwarts. "It's a school. A wizard school. For wizards," he repeated, in case Li didn't understand. "All wizards go there."

"Not me," Li returned. "When I go away to study it will be to Hong Kong, to learn from my aunt. She's the head of the Li family because she's the strongest. One day I'll be head," Li said proudly.

"Oh." Harry absorbed this. He knew about the muggle world and the wizard world, it seemed there were other worlds out there he hadn't even dreamt of yet. "What sort of things will your aunt teach you?"

"I'm not sure," Li admitted. "But I expect it will be very cool and it will have dragons in it. Everything mostly has. What about you? What will you learn?"

"I'm not sure either," Harry admitted. "But I'm going to be on the Quidditch team though." He leaned forward anxiously. "You do know about Quidditch, don't you?"

Li's eyes lit up. "Of course I do! It's the best sport in the world!"

"I have my own broom," Harry bragged and was gratified to see the envy in Li's face. He didn't mention that it was a child's broom and didn't fly very high or very fast. Li didn't need to know everything.

"Uh oh," Li muttered, nudging Harry. "Here's trouble."

Harry turned and gaped again at the sight of the two little girls standing in the doorway. They were as alike as two peas, even down to their little pink and red robes. Their hair curved in a shining black bell around their faces and their hands were linked.

"Who are they?" Harry whispered.

"Just my sisters," Li dismissed.

The girls pushed through the curtains and stared at them, their free hands coming up and inserting thumbs in their mouths. Harry thought they were about the same age as Ronnie's little sister, maybe a bit younger. "Do they talk?"

"My mother said they talk to each other." Li made a face at them and as one the twins screwed up their little round cheeks and poked their tongues back at him, around their sucking thumb. "Just ignore them," Li counselled. "Want to see my toys?"

"Yeah!"

888

"Your new job will keep you very busy it seems," Mr Li said as he looked over their meeting schedule for the next few months.

Snape inclined his head, sitting back more comfortably on the stool, relaxed now as the details had been hammered out. Li agreed with his findings and admired his progress. Snape couldn't say he actually liked the other brewer, because he really didn't like anybody. But he respected him for his skills and tolerated his company, mainly because the man wasn't prone to chatter and inappropriate attempts at friendship.

"And your new boy?"

"One led to the other," Snape confessed.

Li inclined his head formally. "I am happy for you. Family is the most important thing in the world. Ah, here is my wife with tea."

Plump cheeked and smiling Mrs Li nodded shyly at Snape and laid the tray down on the bench. "The children have gone upstairs," she said in a soft accented voice.

"I hope Harry's not being a nuisance." Snape accepted a small cup and breathed appreciatively of the smoky brew.

"Shen Sun is enjoying his company."

"My son," Li supplied at Snape's enquiring look. "He's nearly eight."

"Harry will be happy he's found a new friend."

"Friends are fine," Li agreed politely. "But Shen Sun will be a master of his craft one day. If your son follows in your footsteps he will be too. Perhaps they are forging bonds for the future, along with childish friendship?"

Respect growing, Snape inclined his own head. It seemed he wasn't the only one who thought so far ahead for his boy.

"Now," Mrs Li said, lifting her own tea cup to her lips. "We just have to find a wife for you." She smiled complacently as Snape sputtered into his cup. "You must meet my niece, Ming. Yes?"

888

"What's this?" Harry said suspiciously as a bamboo steamer floated off the trolley and landed in front of him.

"Dumplings," Snape said, lifting one with his chopsticks and depositing it in Harry's bowl.

Harry picked up his own chopsticks and poked the white dumpling with one. "It looks weird."

Around them the small smoky restaurant bustled. Patrons sipped tea and laughed merrily as carts trundled between tables, switching used plates for full ones with dazzling speed. Opposite Harry a boy dressed as brightly as Li had been was shovelling rice into his mouth from a bowl, chopsticks flying. The tea pot on his table lifted all by itself and filled a small round cup, and the boy's mother cast a small cooling charm on the steaming tea and lifted it to take a sip.

"If you spend your life judging by appearances, Harry, you will miss out on a great deal."

Harry fiddled with his chopsticks and Snape leaned forward and demonstrated. "Hold it like a quill, see? Then use these fingers to move the other one. Like that." And he snapped his chopsticks at Harry's nose, causing the boy to wriggle and giggle.

Harry practised clumsily on his dumpling before shrugging impatiently and spearing the small round object with the tapered end. Snape rolled his eyes again.

"I suppose that works too."

Harry munched on the dumpling, eyes lighting up. "Yummy!" he pronounced. He lifted his bowl. "More?"

They worked their way through various delicacies, although Harry flatly refused to try the chicken's feet and would only watch revolted as Snape ate a serving with great enjoyment.

"Daddy?" Harry said, toying with his drink. He twirled the straw thoughtfully.

"Hm?"

"There's lots of kinds of magic in the world, isn't there?"

"As many as there are different kinds of people, Harry."

"Which is better?"

Snape tilted his head. "I suppose everyone would say their own is the best, Harry. But the truth is that magic is the destination for all of us. We just reach it by different means, that's all."

Harry frowned.

"I mean that none are better or worse," Snape clarified. "Just different."

"I like Li, daddy," Harry confided. "He's my new friend."

Snape nodded. Mr Li was right. Family was everything, including the future. And in the future it wouldn't hurt if one of Harry's friends was a Master of the great Li family.

Harry's list of allies grew.


	17. Chapter 17

The presence was unmistakable, that dark shape looming out of the shadows, red slitted eyes gleaming. Immediately he felt the burning pain under his skin, burrowing to the surface like maggots in his flesh. He slapped his hand to the mark and pressed hard, as if trying to push the pain and the brand of shame back into him.

Snape woke with a gasp, wincing in pain at the tight grasp of his hand around the flesh of his forearm. With a word his lamp shone to life and he lifted himself awkwardly to his elbow, flicking limp hair from his eyes and squinting down at his white fingers.

It took a real effort to force his fingers to unfurl, with dread he blinked the sweat out of his eyes and stared down at the revealed flesh. Snape would not at all have been surprised to see the Dark Mark there in all its glory, leering up at him.

But all he saw was white skin reddened by the marks of his own fingers, muscles moving beneath it as his hand flexed convulsively. With a gasp of relief he collapsed back against his pillows. He couldn't believe that for a moment he'd actually expected to see the tattoo on his skin. Even now he could feel it burning and the memories it roused caused a sullen pain in his chest to throb dully.

On his bedside table a charmed globe flared into life and chimed softly. Snape covered his eyes with one hand, cursing under his breath. Harry was awake and had lit his night light.

Snape's hands were still shaking slightly as he thrust his legs out from beneath the covers and groped for his robe. Harry was prone to the occasional bad dream but still seemed disinclined to seek comfort from his father. Or perhaps the boy didn't feel up to braving the dark corridors after one of his night terrors.

The soft glow of the nightlight shone between the chinks of the drawn bed curtain and Snape swept the fabric aside gently so as not to startle the boy.

"Harry?" he whispered.

Harry was a quivering bundle in the centre of his bed. He sniffed and raised his damp face at the sound of his father's voice, then he was lifting his arms in a mute plea for comfort that Snape gladly gave, oddly comforted himself by the warm weight that pressed against him and snuggled gratefully into his shoulder.

He sat on the edge of the bed and patted the child's narrow heaving back. "Bad dream, son?"

Harry nodded, little pointed chin pressed hard to Snape's breast bone. He was already half asleep again, content as usual with the reassuring contact of his father's arms to soothe him. Snape had never asked him what he dreamt about on these occasions, thinking perhaps it was better quickly forgotten. But tonight he felt himself curious. As he held Harry close his gaze was drawn to the mullioned window where the dull gleam of the full moon glinted against the ancient diamonds of glass.

What ill power haunted the swollen moon, that wizards beneath its gaze were visited by dark dreams?

Tonight, driven by the memory of his own ill dream, and the low burn still pressing beneath his skin, Snape shifted Harry a little higher in his arms and peered into that sleepy face.

"What did you dream about, Harry?"

Harry squinted against the moonlight, his eyes slitted and dark, his face seeming younger and more vulnerable without his glasses.

"I don't know," he mumbled. "The green light again, I think."

"Green light?"

Harry nodded, eye lashes fluttering as he frowned a little.

"It's a scary light. And someone's afraid and calling for me." The little boy shivered and Snape held him closer.

"It's all right, Harry," he murmured. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"And my scar starts to hurt," Harry continued dreamily, eyes closed now. "And I can smell the forest around me. I'm small, but not scared now. I'm angry. And I want to get stronger. To get stronger. To get stronger..."

To Snape's horror Harry's face went slack as he mumbled his litany, skin stretching like a white mask over the fine bones of his face, breath coming faster. Instinctively Snape shook the boy and the dreamy expression was jerked away as his head nodded and his eyes opened.

"What?" he said crossly, lifting his fists and knuckling his eyes. "What's wrong, daddy?"

Snape breathed out at the sight of the cross little face, the sleepy voice. Harry's voice.

"Go to the toilet before you go back to sleep," he managed hoarsely and Harry gave an obedient nod and reached for his glasses. Snape wrapped the child's dressing gown around him and walked him down the dim corridor to the bathroom, collapsing in the chair as Harry trotted inside.

What on earth had just happened? With a start he realised his fingers were wrapped around his forearm again, absently rubbing the flesh.

What was going on?

888

"Is it the curse scar?"

Dumbledore steepled his fingers before him and gazed over them at Snape. "If it is, then it's only confirming what we have both feared for some time."

"That he's alive," Snape breathed in horror.

"And that he still has some connection with Harry."

Snape turned and gazed blindly out of the window. Below him students roamed the grounds, re-exploring their school home, and in some cases discovering it for the first time. "And the pain I felt, from the Mark? I would have sworn that it had appeared again, as it only did when the Dark Lord himself summoned me."

"Similar to the pain Harry felt in his scar, I imagine. If Harry is in tune with him in some way and you are in tune with Harry..."

"In tune with him?"

"Attuned to his magic, his moods." Dumbledore smiled at him kindly. "It's not unusual for parents and their children to feel that closeness, Severus."

"I wouldn't know," Snape said numbly. "I just know I dreamt he was near at the same time Harry was in tune with him, as you put it. As if for those moments he and Harry were... one."

"Not quite how I'd put it, but close enough. It's almost reassuring, in a way."

Snape shook his head in disbelief. "Reassuring?"

"Well, isn't it? If Harry really did connect with Voldemort last night then it's a Voldemort vastly different from the one we knew. Small, powerless, and I would guess very far away from here."

Snape met calm eyes searchingly. "What makes you assume that?"

"Harry was his downfall," Dumbledore said simply. "Powerless as he is he will not take our boy on again so soon."

Snape shivered. "So soon," he whispered.

"I think we both know the time may well come..." Dumbledore broke off as a huge blackbird fluttered at his window. "Excuse me for just one moment." The old wizard jumped spryly to his feet and hastened over to the bird. He bent his white head and appeared to listen politely to it and then he nodded and reached into his pocket. The bird took the morsel with a snap of its beak and was back out of the window and away.

"How interesting," Dumbledore said mildly. "It appears the Minister for Magic is on his way to Hogwarts."

Rattled, Snape's anger flared to life. "Not him! Not now!"

"Alas yes." Dumbledore tapped his bearded chin thoughtfully. "I must admit, I've been expecting him ever since that article abut you and Harry appeared in the paper. There has been a great deal of strong talk from certain powerful people about your appearance in Harry's life."

Fear overrode anger. "What powerful people?"

Dumbledore gazed at him sympathetically. "I think you can guess who's driving this. It would suit some folk very well indeed to have Harry under their eye and close to their hand should the occasion arise that he became a danger again."

"Malfoy," Snape spat, hearing many of his own fears in Dumbledore's words.

"Amongst others. But you mustn't let it worry, you, Severus. I've sought advice from the highest in the land, in this matter wizard law is absolute. You are the boy's father, and only magical relative. No one can take him away from you."

Snape set his jaw and kept his own council. He knew the letter of the law, he had made discreet enquiries himself. But unlike Dumbledore, he didn't trust that the men who upheld the law did so with any interests but their own at heart. Should it suit such men to bend said law, then less powerful men like himself could find themselves very quickly on the outside looking in.

In such cases all he could do was rely on his own powerful friends and the influence they wielded. As Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamut there could be no more important friend than Dumbledore right now. Snape contented himself with a nod of his head.

"Is Harry with Poppy?"

Dumbledore's eyes were still kind, still sympathetic, but there was also a knowing light in them that had Snape frowning at him for a moment, slow to answer. Did Dumbledore trust Fudge's law any more than Snape did? What cards was this old wizard playing close to his chest?

"Severus?"

"Oh, yes," Snape hurried to reply. "With the full moon falling at the start of term Lupin won't start school until tomorrow at least."

"And Neville arrives tonight?" Dumbledore acknowledged Snape's nod. "Good, this is probably the best time then. Stay here with me, Severus, let us get this meeting with Fudge over and done with and hear the worst he has to offer. Then maybe we can breathe a sigh of relief and get on with the term."

"You think it will be that easy?" Snape said cynically.

"No, I think we will probably have to submit to a hearing."

"A paternity test?" Snape said, trying to sound unconcerned.

"At the very least. And why not? We've nothing to hide and everything to gain! Once Harry's paternity is established before the Wizengamut itself, for of course I will ensure a full and open hearing of this matter, then Harry's place will be assured, and no one can seriously oppose it again."

"You make it sound like something to look forward to," Snape said snidely.

Dumbledore leaned forward. "Trust me, Severus. I promise you, no one will take our boy away!"

888

"Oh, you're here," Fudge blurted out as he entered the circular stone room and spotted Snape.

"Professor Snape and I have been having a little visit, Cornelius," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "Discussing the potential of our First Years."

"Ah, of course," Fudge said, schooling his face like the politician that he was. "And how do they rate?"

"Abysmal," Snape said shortly.

Fudge looked taken aback. "Oh."

"Do sit down, Cornelius. I must say, this is a surprise. Your owl last night didn't mention a visit?"

"Had a bit of an opening in my schedule," Fudge said smoothly. "Thought it might be the best time to get a bit of unpleasant business out of the way." He cast a look at Snape. "Private business," he said pointedly.

Snape didn't move a muscle.

"Ah, private business," Dumbledore said in surprise. "So it's nothing to do with Harry Potter then?"

Fudge sent him a fulminating glare.

"Or perhaps you mean private business between yourself and young Harry's father?" Dumbledore jumped nimbly to his feet. "In which case I'll just pop out for a moment and leave you two to discuss it in private. Back in a mo!" With his bright skirts trailing behind him he whisked his way out of the room.

"Well, really," Fudge said grumpily.

"Is it about Harry that you've come?" Snape asked softly.

"I don't know why you would assume that," Fudge said defensively. "I do have other business to attend to, don'tcha know. Plenty of very important business to attend to as Minister for Magic!"

Snape stared him down, keeping is face impassive. "Then it's not about Harry?"

Fudge met his gaze for a moment and then harrumphed and subsided. "Well, since you're here I suppose we might as well discuss a few things." He looked over his shoulder at the closed door behind him and frowned. "For example, last time I was here you mentioned a deal you had with Dumbledore. I'd be very much obliged if you'd tell me about it."

"Deal?" For a moment Snape was thrown off track, forgetting the cool face he'd shown the Minister on his last visit. How long ago that seemed now! He'd been frightened then at the threat the other wizard had posed, but how much more frightened he was now. How much more did it seem like he had to lose.

"Yes, yes," Fudge said impatiently. "A better deal than the job I offered you, it seemed."

"Ah, a deal," Snape recalled. "Did I really put it so oddly? I merely meant the understanding the headmaster and I have come to over our living arrangements. My work here in return for a home for Harry and myself."

Fudge stared at him, narrow eyed. "And that's it?" he said after a long moment of silence.

Snape inclined his head. "It seemed important at the time," he explained. "To ensure my son's safety," he added deliberately.

Fudge snorted irritably. "Safety? You and Dumbledore are singing the same tune it seems. Talking about the boy as if he has enemies behind every tree. Harry Potter is as safe in this world as a babe in its mother's... arms..." Fudge trailed away as he realised what he'd said, his already ruddy face reddening further.

"Perhaps not the best analogy," he said gruffly while Snape tried to suppress a smirk at his hated enemy's discomfiture.

"Perhaps," Snape murmured.

"At any rate, it seems to me that both you and Dumbledore are exaggerating the situation for your own gain," Fudge blustered.

Snape lifted a brow. "Gain?"

The Minister leaned forward. "Harry Potter," he hissed. "It's become very apparent to me that Dumbledore is keeping young Harry Potter under his thumb, as it were. In his clutches."

"When you want him in yours?" Snape wondered innocently.

"Yes! Er, no, of course not!" Fudge slammed the hat he'd been holding in his lap onto Dumbledore's desk. "We want him in our care, to protect the boy, of course. But mainly to study him, to learn from him, if you will."

"Study," Snape repeated coolly. "Study?" The last thing he wanted was to show Fudge any sort of emotion, he'd held his temper thus far despite the other wizard's dismissal of him as almost irrelevant in his own son's life. But now he could feel the edges of his control fraying. "Harry is six years old!"

"A mere child," Fudge confirmed with an eager nod. "But how much younger was he when he struck down You-Know-Who? How much more power might he have now?"

"You accuse Dumbledore of wanting to exploit him," Snape said bitterly. "But it is you who wants to do that!"

"Not at all!" Fudge denied hotly, jumping to his feet. "We want to learn from him! What if another evil faces us? We need to know how to defeat it!"

"Harry doesn't know how to defeat it," Snape dismissed sharply. "He doesn't even remember it."

"So you say," Fudge sneered. "But I've only yours and Dumbledore's word for that." He mastered his expression again and faced Snape with a more calculating look. "And of course I have the safety of the public to think about as well. The other students at this school, for example. What if whatever power the boy has emerges again? Who knows what havoc he might wreak?"

And now Snape understood that this was the weapon that Fudge would use against him. Whatever the circumstances of Harry's paternity test he would find some way to twist it. Whatever the results he would find some way to bend them to his own will. Snape felt the suffocating pressure of a cornered animal fill him.

"Why did you come here today?" he forced out.

Triumph lit Fudge's smug face. "The Ministry has decided a test must be performed on the boy. One of parentage, not just paternity."

Snape absorbed this, almost absently noting the sense. After all, this child might be any boy calling himself Harry Potter, any boy who was son to Severus Snape at any rate.

"And when it is proven that Lily Potter and I are Harry's parents?"

"You seem very confident that it will," Fudge said hardly. "But whatever the results, it seems to me that we have other options. Declaring the boy a National Treasure, for one thing. One too important to remain in the hands of someone of your... lineage."

Snape nodded dully. Yes, and that was the next step. It's what he would do, if he were in Fudge's shoes. Find whatever weapon was to hand, put pressure on any handy lever... Idly he wondered which house the Minister had been in, back in his days at Hogwarts.

"I'm speaking of course about your father. Vissius Snape, wasn't it?"

"My father is dead and buried," Snape said distantly. He understood now, how it would go. Arguing with this man would get him nowhere, relying on the rules would see him brought to naught. All he had to do now was get through this meeting.

Then he could begin making a plan.

"The story I heard is that he got himself murdered," Fudge said with glee. "Vile moneylender that he was. In fact, the story I heard was he leaned on the wrong debtor at the wrong time of the month. Got himself attacked by a werewolf. Nasty business."

"And nothing to do with events here and now," Dumbledore said gently from the door.

Fudge swung around, looking disconcerted for a moment. Then he rallied. "Perhaps, perhaps," he agreed insincerely. "But on the other hand it's hard to say how the public will take such stories. Hard to judge how such things will go."

"You seem sure enough about the outcome?" Dumbledore said curiously.

"Well, I am a politician. And a successful one," Fudge said proudly. "I do pride myself on knowing the will of the people."

Unable to take any more Snape stood, feeling himself surprisingly steady. In a way it almost was a relief, as Dumbledore had predicted. He knew which way the coin would come down now.

He knew what he had to do.

Dumbledore took a step and laid a hand on Snape's shoulder, smiling at the Minister. "Perhaps you'd better let us know when this hearing will be, Cornelius?"

Fudge didn't seem at all surprised that Dumbledore knew about the hearing, in fact his lips curled a little in satisfaction.

"January," he said and Snape started in surprise.

"That's four months away!" he blurted out.

"Yes, well." Fudge picked up his hat and straightened his cloak about his shoulders. "Have to convene a full council, notify the Wizengamut, prepare the test. No need to rush such things."

Snape opened his mouth to protest but closed it again as Dumbledore's hand tightened on his shoulder.

"January then," the headmaster said with a smile. "Send us an official notice with the date and so forth, will you? My memory these days isn't what it used to be."

Fudge jammed his hat on his head. "Oh, it will all be very official," he said smugly. "I wouldn't dream of doing this any other way. Snape." He nodded at Snape who stared stonily back at him. Fudge smirked and extended a hand to Dumbledore who took it and shook it heartily. "I'll contact you by owl over that goblin business, all right? By the end of the week."

"Glad to be of service, Cornelius," Dumbledore said sincerely. "May I see you out?"

Fudge waved his hand airily. "No need, no need. I think I know my way after all this time. Good day."

888

The room echoed with silence after he was gone, only the distant grinding of the stone staircase as it revolved its way downwards ringing in Snape's ears.

"Well, that went pretty much as I expected," Dumbledore said, rubbing his hands together briskly. "I could do with a cup of tea. Severus?"

"I have to go pick up Harry," Snape said distantly, heading for the door. It slammed shut in front of him and slowly bolted itself. Turning he saw a spinning pot appear and Dumbledore conjured up a pair of china cups.

"I really do think you'd better have that cup of tea, Severus."

Snape took a deep breath and stumped back to the table.

"I'd offer you a biscuit but I think you'd choke on it."

"Harry will be worried if I don't arrive soon."

"Harry's fine, I was just with him explaining that you were delayed." Dumbledore poured the tea and sat back with a sigh. "We had a lovely chat and he confided in me how much he was looking forward to the school year. Seems you promised him a long weekend at the seaside in half hols, and he and Neville have some rather exciting activities planned for broomstick and bicycle. It would be a shame to deprive Harry of all that and take him on the run."

Snape's head snapped up. "Reading my mind now?" he spat.

"Really, Severus, I'm surprised at you," Dumbledore said mildly, ignoring the accusation. "Why on earth do you think Cornelius has given you four months to sweat about this hearing? He's trying to frighten the life out of you, dear boy! He's trying to drive you to make the very mistake you're contemplating!"

"Harry is still mine until they say otherwise," Snape shot back. "I'm free to take him anywhere I like!"

"With a hearing of such importance pending?" Dumbledore threw back at him. "Do you want Harry taken away from you and kept away from you for the next four months?"

Snape jumped to his feet. "They will have to kill me first!"

Dumbledore sighed. "Yes," he said quietly. "I assume that's occurred to some people as well."

Snape blinked.

"Probably not Cornelius," Dumbledore conceded. "Although doubtless if it happened he would be quick to take advantage of it. I was thinking more of those other folk who are pulling his strings. Those who seem determined to drive us towards some bitter end."

Snape clutched the back of his chair convulsively. "They mean to take him from me, headmaster," he said hoarsely. "By fair means or foul. How do I fight that?"

"With help from your friends," Dumbledore said gently. "By not going off half cocked. By sitting down and finishing your tea so you can begin to think clearly."

Snape subsided into his chair but did not pick up the tea. He was afraid his hand might tremble, although why he bothered to hide anything from the headmaster was a mystery. The man could clearly see right through him.

"Fudge thinks he can manipulate both the law and the public to achieve his ends. Well, perhaps he can. He will certainly try. But he gave away a lot more than he meant to today, although I doubt he's realised that yet." Dumbledore smiled reassuringly. "I'm sorry I left you alone to get on with it, my boy, but Cornelius is always cautious around me. I sensed the two of you together might strike some sparks and I was right. We now have some idea of what he means to do. And how he means to do it."

Snape couldn't take comfort from the older wizard's reassuring glance. He could already feel a creeping tide of despair.

"How does knowing his plan help us fight it?"

The headmaster laid a finger along the side of his rather long nose and dropped a wink. "I know one or two things myself," he said with a twinkle. "In the meantime you must live life as usual. Give Fudge no reason to suspect your treatment of Harry."

"Go on as usual?" Snape huffed a bitter laugh. "I've forgotten what usual is. The child I fathered for the worst of reasons has become my life's work. I spent the morning facing the thickest bunch of dullards ever to stand before a cauldron. And now the Minister for Magic is gunning for me."

Dumbledore grinned. "Bang goes your chance at that Order of Merlin, First Class."

Snape snorted, lifting his hand to his brow and rubbing wearily. "Why is life so bloody unrelenting sometimes?"

"I have no idea," Dumbledore said sympathetically. "But I've found a cup of tea always helps. Shall I freshen the pot?"

888

Snape heard Harry's piping voice before he pushed open the wide infirmary doors, and he paused for a moment in the doorway, shaking his head at the sight that greeted him. Harry, swathed from neck to knee in one of Madame Pomfrey's starched aprons, standing on a footstool dusting at a cabinet. Snape covered his mouth with his hand. The boy even had a head scarf on.

The mediwitch was next to him, similarly garbed, pointing out spots he'd missed as she twitched bottles aside with her wand for him to dust under. Harry was carrying on one of his usual one sided monologues, espousing his favourite theory; the excellence of broomsticks. Long experienced with children, Madame simply nodded and pointed out a new spot.

Watching the happy domestic scene Snape felt the worst of the tension from the meeting draining out of him. There was no denying it, Harry had changed his life. He had inadvertently placed enormous burdens on his shoulders and was rapidly striving to turn him grey before he was thirty. But looking at him now, small and vulnerable, bursting with life, chattering nineteen to a dozen, Snape could only marvel at the twist of fate that had bought him to this time and place.

His boy was a wonder.

"That can't be Harry Potter cleaning up," Snape said as he strode into the room.

Harry turned, his eyes lighting up.

For me, Snape thought. Has anyone ever been as glad to see me as Harry always is?

"Daddy!"

"Is that really my boy under there?" Snape said doubtfully.

Poppy patted his bescarfed head fondly. "It certainly is," she announced. "He's been a wonderful helper."

"I'm helping!" Harry beamed.

"I'll remember that next time I ask you to clean up your room."

Harry shrugged and grinned, flicking his duster.

"Finish up now, Harry. It's nearly time for tea."

"We're having sausages tonight," Harry explained to Madame as she helped him off with his apron. "Mr Pickle knows they're my favourite and he makes them 'specially for me." Harry held out his hand and measured with dusty fingers. "Little tiny sausages."

"Well, you've earned them," Madame said with a smile. She rummaged in her apron pocket and pulled out a sweet, covered in bright foil. "And you've earned this too, although you must save it for afters and not spoil your tea."

Harry accepted the prize and beamed up at her. "Thank you, Madame."

"You bring him back any time you need to, Professor Snape," Madame twinkled.

"I appreciate it," Snape said sincerely. At this moment he appreciated all the help he and Harry received from their friends.

He had the feeling they were going to need a lot more before they were done.


	18. Chapter 18

"Don't go out of my sight," Snape ordered automatically as he settled back on the bench.

"We know," Harry said, rolling his eyes at Neville, who covered his mouth and giggled.

"I saw that." Snape shot Harry a narrow eyed glare and the boy immediately straightened his face.

"Sorry, daddy," he said, not at all chastened.

"Go play and leave me to my peace."

Harry nudged Neville, then snatched up his broom and rushed down to the green swathe of grass beneath the giant Quidditch hoops.

"Come on, Neville!" he called excitedly. "I'll race you to the other side!"

Neville gave Snape a half rueful shrug then wheeled his bike towards Harry.

"Why do we always have to race?" he grumbled.

Harry looked nonplussed. He paused in mounting his broom and flicked a lock of black hair from his eyes.

"How will we know who's the winner, if we don't race?"

Neville just shrugged again and climbed aboard his bike. It was rather a fine one, with shiny blue paint and flecks of silver that caught the sunlight as it moved, and big wide wheels with a solid sturdy tread. Neville settled himself on the padded seat and sedately rang his bell.

"I wish I had a bell," Harry said enviously. "I'm going to ask Santa for one at Christmas."

Neville steadied himself on his two wheeler and began to pedal, gaining speed quite quickly on the smooth green turf.

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed indignantly, straddling his broom. "No fair!"

"You're the one who wanted to race," Neville called over his shoulder, little legs pumping.

Harry leaned forward and the broom quivered at his command, rising to lift his feet from the ground and shooting forward. It took him until halfway across the field before he caught up with Neville and they were neck and neck by the other side.

Neville was panting by the time they reached the stands, but Harry had his arms raised and was cheering.

"I win!"

"My legs are going to fall off," Neville puffed, clambering off the bike and dropping to the grass.

"Don't quit now, Neville," Harry said, circling his broom and swooping over Neville's head for the sheer joy of it.

"It's all right for you," Neville accused. "You don't have to pedal your broom." He shaded his eyes and looked back to where Harry's father was sitting in the stands, absorbed in his papers. "I wonder if Mr Snape could make a spell so my pedals go by themselves?"

Harry was still looping, trying to go higher but without much success. Unlike Bill and Charlie's broom this one was charmed to fly slow and low, as his dad put it.

"Like a baby," Harry muttered under his breath. He circled Neville again and then skimmed the edge of the stand, taking one hand off the broomstick and running it along the smooth old wood. He reached a gap and flew through it, looping another small circle as he contemplated the new scenery on this side of the pitch. It was rugged and wild, stands of wind blown old trees squatting on the hilly inclines.

"Harry! Mr Snape said don't leave his sight!" Neville called out.

"He can still see me!" Harry called, knowing he was skating on thin ice. Any minute now his dad would look up and bellow for him. But for now Harry was too interested in this new landscape and the low flying birds swooping over and through the stubby trees. He was following the flight of one in fascination, wondering what it would be like to dip and soar like that on his own broom, when his eye fixed upon a bushy patch and he frowned.

Two yellow eyes stared back at him. Harry blinked as a huge head and a looming shaggy body swam into focus behind the eyes. With a lithe bunch of muscles the massive creature came lolloping towards him, eyes gleaming, jaws opening. Harry didn't even have time to scream before it leapt.

888

At the sound of Neville's high-pitched scream Snape jumped to his feet, already parent enough to recognise the difference between a playful shriek and a cry of real terror. Neville was on the ground on the other side of the pitch, pointing at the wide open doorway and screaming shrilly.

Snape dropped his papers and leapt the barricade, long legs eating up the turf, eyes desperately scanning beyond Neville out into the hills beyond.

"Harry!" he bellowed.

Neville scrambled backwards and ran towards him, mouth still wide open, eyes wild with terror. Snape met him and caught him in mid-leap, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him roughly, eyes still over his shoulder.

"Stop screaming!" he yelled and Neville broke for breath, shaking under Snape's hands. "Where's Harry?"

"D-d-dog!" Neville panted, chest heaving. "B-b-big dog! It jumped up! It took him!"

Terrified thoughts screamed through his mind but Snape didn't have a moment to give in to them. He pushed the boy behind him, drawing his wand from his pocket in the same movement.

"Run back to the castle," he ordered, already loping away. "Get help!"

Beyond the opening the wide world beckoned, rugged landscape running over rocky ground, birds swooping and calling against the cloudy afternoon sky.

Harry's broom lay discarded on the ground.

But of Harry himself there was no sign.

888

Harry woke with a fright and sat up, instantly aware that he wasn't in his bed. There was dust everywhere for one thing, and cobwebs, long ropy strands that swayed gently in a breeze that was wheedling its way through the wide cracks in the wall.

Tears sprang to Harry's eyes as he looked wildly around the room, eyes trying to adjust to the gloom lit only by the weak sunlight that intruded through the cracks and illuminated the motes of dust that swirled in the breeze.

"Don't be frightened," a hoarse voice said and Harry jumped, cringing back against a ragged old cushion. More dust rose up and he coughed and choked on it, eyes watering as he peered into the gloom.

"Really," the voice said again. A man stepped forward and Harry trembled in fear. "I won't hurt you," the man said, stretching out one hand. It looked more like a claw to Harry, thin with long dirty nails. The man himself was filthy all over, long hair matted, beard dusty and covered with cobwebs like the room around them.

Harry cringed back. "Where's my daddy?"

The man winced, dropping his hand.

"I don't know," he said lowly. Harry peered at him, breath hitching in frightened gasps in his chest. Even through his fear he could hear that the man's voice didn't match his face. It was soft and husky.

"What is this place?" Harry beseeched.

The man looked around, almost as if seeing it for the first time himself.

"A safe place," he murmured. "At least for now. I've smelled old Moony around and it won't take him long to figure out who's taken you and where."

Harry sniffed miserably. He didn't understand any of this.

"Please let me go home," he whispered. "My dad will be awfully worried about me."

The man shook his head and Harry bit his lip to stop his mouth from quivering. He was so afraid he wanted to scream and cry like a baby. He was so afraid it was making him angry.

"My dad's a wizard!" he yelled and the man jumped. "He's gonna be so mad he'll put a bad spell on you! So you better take me home!"

The man surveyed him for a moment in shocked surprise and then to Harry's amazement he threw back his head and laughed.

"Now I know I'm not going crazy!" he exclaimed, yellowing teeth flashing as he grinned at a stunned Harry. "No matter what Fudge's newspaper said, you're James's boy and no mistake!"

Blinking in surprise behind his round glasses Harry studied the difference laughter made to the man's creepy face. He looked a lot less scary with his eyes lit up like that.

"Who are you?" Harry said, feeling the trembling in his limbs subside a little. "How did I get here?"

"Don't you know?" The man grinned again and in an instant, like water flowing, he turned into a dog before Harry's eyes, huge and hairy, long pink tongue protruding as he panted harshly. A moment later he had flowed back into a man and Harry exclaimed in amazement at the swiftness of the transformation.

"Are you a werewolf?" Harry breathed.

The man laughed again and sat on the edge of the bed. "Good guess, Harry. But a werewolf only comes out under a full moon."

"What are you then?" wondered Harry. Another thought struck him. "And how do you know my name?"

The man smiled, and it was such a gentle smile that Harry couldn't help but stare. Why, he looked almost nice now, not so scary and horrible at all.

"I helped pick it out," the man said. "James loved it but Lily said she thought it was a bit ordinary at first. She wanted to name you after James's, father, Ambrose. Can you imagine? Ambrose Potter!"

"You knew my mum?" Harry asked. "And my other dad?"

The man's eyes flashed for a moment, and he lowered his head, looking down at his filthy cracked nails. "Your other dad," he murmured. "Yes, I knew Lily and James. And Remus too, I know you know him, I can smell him on you."

Harry wrinkled his brow and thought. "You mean Mr Lupin?" he asked.

"Yes, Mr Lupin. We were all friends, back before you were born. I knew you as a baby, Harry. I held you in my arms and tickled your toes."

The man's eyes were soft, and his dirty hand reached out again. Harry was still frowning but he didn't cringe away this time when one finger touched his own hand and gently stroked it.

"But if you were my mum's friend why did you take me away?" Harry said, mouth trembling again. His dad would be looking for him now, and Harry remembered how upset his dad had been that time Harry had been exploring his secret passage and he couldn't find him. It was even worse this time, because his dad would know Harry was really and truly gone now, carried away by the giant dog. At the thought his eyes filled with tears again and he felt his courage slipping.

"I want my daddy," he said, tears beginning to leak from the corners of his eyes. "Where's my daddy? I want him!"

888

"It was a big dog," Neville said, while Madame Pomfrey wiped his face with a damp flannel. His mouth was turned down and despite her ministrations more tears ran down his cheeks and dripped off his chin. "It jumped up in the air and grabbed Harry's robe and carried him away." Neville gulped a sob. "I fink it's gonna eat him," he whispered miserably.

"Nonsense," Pomfrey said bracingly, but the face she turned to Dumbledore was terribly worried. "Whatever could have taken him, headmaster?"

Flitwick pounded into the infirmary, skidding a little on the smooth stones "The students are locked in the Great Hall," he squeaked, hand on his side as he caught his breath. "And all the staff are out in the grounds searching." Flitwick shook his head dismally. "Poor young Snape is beside himself."

"Of course he is," Pomfrey exclaimed. "Where is he searching?"

"With Hagrid. Fang's trying to get the dog's scent apparently, but they've reached the Standing Stones and have lost track."

Dumbledore's head lifted sharply. "The Standing Stones? The tracks led back to the castle? Not into the Forbidden Forest?"

"Unless Fang's nose has let him down," Flitwick confirmed. "But the poor creature's in a terrible state now. It seems very confused." Flitwick turned his small serious gaze on the headmaster. "That's what makes me think," he squeaked. "That this is some magical creature, headmaster."

Dumbledore nodded once. "I agree. Where is Lupin, do you know?"

"I think he's searching the forest with Sinistra and Fenech. Do you want to speak with him?"

888

Snape pushed a limp strand of hair out of his eyes as he cast yet another locating spell towards the fringes of the forest. His wand tip glowed as sparks shot out, illuminating the dark tangled trees, shooting through the undergrowth, sending roosting birds rocketing from their nest and burrowing animals fleeing to safety. His arm ached with the power coursing through it, his vision was starting to split as the expended magic took its toll.

But still he worked.

"C'mon, Fang," Hagrid said, fondling the dog's huge head roughly. "There's nuthin' you can't track, old son! If you can't find the beast, then find Harry. You remember Harry, right?"

Fang whined and pushed his muzzle into Hagrid's big hands, eyes drooping sadly.

Snape tuned them out, his narrowed eyes following the trail of his spells, tracing them far beyond normal sight as the locators whizzed and whirred through the trees. In his mind's eye he soared with his spell, between trees and over fallen branches, searching desperately for some sign of the great beast.

"Harry," he muttered under his breath. "Where are you?"

"It's no good, Professor," Hagrid said in despair. "It's a magical beast we're dealin' with here, and no mistake. Anything else Fang could track over land or water."

"Go and find the headmaster then," Snape ordered, mind still roaming the forest with his spell. "Tell him to send a message to the centaurs asking them to help. Perhaps they know what this beast is."

And where its lair is, Snape thought to himself, swallowing hard and feeling his concentration slip for a moment. His all-too agile imagination supplied thoughts of his son's small body, broken and bleeding, dragged to the lair of some loathsome magical beast. For a moment despair weighed him down and he sagged, wand arm dropping, mind black with his thoughts.

Harry, Harry…

"Severus!"

Dumbledore was calling and Snape cast off his despair and turned, something like hope lighting his heart.

"Headmaster! Have you found him?"

"Not yet." The old man reached him, barely panting after his run, although the much younger wizard with him could hardly catch his breath.

Snape sagged again, disappointment bitter. He turned his back on the pair and gathered his thoughts to cast another locator spell.

"Severus, wait," Dumbledore counselled. "I think Remus might be able to help us."

"Me?" Lupin panted in astonishment. "I don't think there's anything I can do, headmaster. I wish there was."

Snape turned and pinned Lupin with a deadly stare. "What do you know?" he barked.

"Nothing!" Lupin said defensively, bewildered gaze swinging from Snape to the headmaster.

"You may know more than you think. Fang has lost the trail here, Remus, but a stone's throw away from the passage to the Shrieking Shack. A place you know all too well."

Lupin cast the listening Hagrid a self-conscious glance and Snape spun towards the Whomping Willow.

"You think the beast might know the tunnel?" he demanded.

"I don't know what I think," Dumbledore confessed. "But it strikes me that you might, Remus." He turned a piercing glance at the bewildered tutor. "A great black dog takes Harry. Flees, not into the forest but here, towards the Whomping Willow."

Remus's eyes widened and he shot a glance at the dangerously swaying branches of the huge tree.

"A dog, yes," he repeated weakly. "But I… I thought it must be something from the Forest. It... can't be..."

"Can't be what?" Snape snapped. His wand hand twitched but he kept it firmly by his side for the moment. "Stop blathering, man, and tell us what you know!"

"No," Lupin was shaking his head. "It's impossible! He's in prison, he couldn't be here!"

"Who?" Snape thoughts snapped into place and he frowned incredulously. "Sirius Black?" he breathed, putting it together in his mind. Prison, the Willow, the past crowding in on him.

"Sirius Black!" Hagrid exclaimed. "He's in Azkaban!"

"And what has he to do with a giant black dog, Remus?" Dumbledore said gently and Lupin swallowed.

"He's an Animagus," he confessed.

Shock tightened Snape's chest and he barely heard as Hagrid exclaimed with amazement and Dumbledore murmured in surprise.

"Immobilus!" Snape shouted and his steaming wand flared to life, freezing the branches of the Willow into place.

"Severus, wait!" Lupin called. "It can't be him, it can't be!"

Snape ignored him, hurrying to the base of the tree and pressing its bole, old memories showing him the way. The mass murderer Sirius Black had his son. But if he'd wanted Harry dead he'd have killed him on the spot, so there was still hope, there was still hope that Harry was alive.

It was all Snape had and he held onto it.

888

Harry pushed his glasses aside and knuckled his eyes with his hands, feeling the fear and distress rising in him again, like an aching pain in his chest.

"Oh, Harry," the man said, and then he was stroking Harry's hair back from his face, thin hands trembling. "Don't cry, Harry. I'll take you back to… to him. I swear I will."

Harry sniffed and peered up at the dirty face, blinking through his tears. He wished he had a hanky, then remembered his dad wasn't around and this filthy man wasn't likely to object. He wiped his eyes and his running nose on his sleeve.

The man picked up his glasses and proffered them, and Harry took them and sat them back on his nose.

"I never meant to scare you, I really didn't," the man was saying softly. "But when I saw you flying so happily on your broom, looking so much like James… I just wanted to grab you up and carry you away. I just wanted to protect you."

"My dad protects me," Harry sniffed.

The man looked at him searchingly. "Does he, Harry? Does he really?"

There was a odd, half-wild urgency in the man's voice. Harry nodded.

"Yes. He's my very own daddy and he looks after me ever so well."

"And he doesn't frighten you?" the man probed. "Or make you cry?"

Harry shook his head firmly. "Uh uh." Then he tilted his head. "Well, he did get really mad once, when he couldn't find me and he was scared." Harry's eyes widened and he grew very solemn. "He's going to be ever so scared now."

The man's eyes searched his. "You love him?" he whispered.

Harry nodded. "And he loves me. I'm his boy," he explained. Then he shrugged, a little shyly. "I was never anyone's boy before," he confided.

The man's shoulders slumped. "You were," he murmured. "I wish you could remember when you were our boy, James and Lily's and mine. How much we loved you."

Harry suddenly felt sorry for the man, even though he was dirty and a bit scary, even though he'd carried Harry away and frightened him. He reached out and patted the man's shoulder; it was hard and bony beneath the raggedy old robe.

The man looked up at him, his dark eyes wide and shiny. "You'll probably get tired of hearing this," he said hoarsely. "But you do look a lot like James. Except for your eyes."

"I have my mother's eyes," Harry put in swiftly, and smiled damply when the man's eyes lit up.

"Yes, you do," he agreed huskily. "And her kind heart as well." His head tilted and then he jumped to his feet and spun towards the doorway. "I hear them coming, they'll be here soon." He spun back to Harry. "I have to go now, they'll be along in a moment and find you."

"Is my dad there?" Harry asked eagerly.

The man nodded. "When he comes," he said. "You tell him I'll be watching over you, do you understand? That I will be around to make sure you are safe your life long."

"Okay," Harry said, feeling his heart pounding hard in his chest. His dad was coming! This scary time would soon be over and his dad would take him back home and he would be safe.

Like water flowing the man turned back into the giant dog and he stood braced four square for a moment, yellow eyes staring hard at Harry. Then with a lithe bound he was out of the room and away.

888

"Daddy! I'm here!" Harry was calling and Snape's long legs took him up three creaking stairs at a time as he flew to the top of the house, leaping smashed furniture and missing floorboards. His mind hadn't time to imagine all the horrors he might find in the room ahead, which was just as well because all that was there was Harry, dusty and dirty and wet with tears, climbing off a bed and running towards him.

Snape snatched him up and held his living body close against his own, feeling with stunned gratitude the exhalation of breath in that narrow chest as he embraced him, the shaking sobs that shook the child's thin frame as his skinny arms locked about his father's neck.

"Harry, Harry," Snape was muttering, relief buckling his knees and sending him to the floor.

"I'm sorry," Harry was sobbing. "I din't mean to fly out of your sight. I was just looking!"

"It's all right," Snape soothed, and it was, everything was all right. Any danger could be faced now that Harry was safe and back in his arms. He pulled back and caught narrow little shoulders, studying the boy through eyes unaccountably misty.

"Are you all right?"

Behind them he heard Dumbledore and Lupin arrive.

"Thank goodness," Lupin was panting and Dumbledore huffed a sigh of relief.

"Indeed!" he agreed heartily.

"I was scared," Harry confessed, wiping at his wet face.

Snape's hands ran down the thin frame searching for wounds and Harry endured it, still swiping clumsily at his face.

"Are you hurt?"

"Uh uh," Harry said, still hiccupping a sob. "The man didn't hurt me."

"Man?" Dumbledore said, crossing the room and sitting back on the dusty counterpane with a sigh. "I'm too old for all this running about," he confided, touching Harry's tousled head with a gentle hand. "What man, Harry?"

"The man who turns into a dog," Harry said, and Lupin exclaimed loudly. Harry turned a shocked look on him. "Mr Lupin, you said a bad word," he said in astonishment.

"What did the man do?" Snape asked, sitting back on his heels, satisfied the boy had no visible wounds.

"Um." Harry thought about it. "He said he was sorry for scaring me," he recalled. "He said he wanted to protect me, but I told him you did that, daddy." Harry plucked at Snape's collar with long trembling fingers. "Um, he said a lot of things."

"Did he hurt you?" Snape asked, the very words difficult to say.

Harry shook his head, sniffling again and Snape decided he'd had enough. He lifted the boy back into his arms and felt him bury his face in his neck, tears flowing once more.

"Get the child home, Severus," Dumbledore counselled. "I'll call off the search and let everyone know Harry's been found, safe and sound."

Snape nodded and turned to the door, meeting Lupin's shocked gaze squarely.

"I swear, Severus," Lupin said shakily. "If I'd known Sirius was free, I would have-"

"I don't want to hear it," Snape said, pushing the man aside.

"All the same," Dumbledore said as they trooped down the steps of the creaking old house. "You have a great many questions to answer, Lupin, as do the guards of Azkaban Prison."

888

"There's no doubt it was Sirius Black," Dumbledore said gravely.

Snape absently patted Harry's back and nodded tightly. The boy had been washed and fed and was now fast asleep against his shoulder. He seemed well enough, quiet and clingy, but physically unscathed. He'd seemed more concerned with the fate of his broomstick than with recounting his experiences. In fact it was poor Neville who had dissolved in a flood of tears at seeing his friend alive and uneaten, and had been soundly dosed by Madame and put to bed with her for the night.

By the window Lupin sat on the wide stone ledge, eyes on the dark night outside.

"How did he escape?" Lupin asked tonelessly and Snape scowled.

"How do you think? If the guards had known they were dealing with an Animagus he would never have been given the chance!"

"They've been dealing with an Animagus for nearly five years," Lupin shot back. "If I'd thought it meant he could escape I'd have said something about it then!"

"Would you?" Snape sneered doubtfully. "Forgive me if I don't take your word for it. You always were a moral coward."

"That's enough, Severus," Dumbledore said, quietly but firmly. "Remus has told me his reasons for secrecy and I can certainly understand and forgive them. And of course the truth is he had no reason to believe that Black's skill would aid in his escape."

"How did it?" Lupin asked lowly and the headmaster shrugged.

"The blame lies with the Dementors of Azkaban. It seems Black must have been spending much of his time as a dog and, blind as they are to all but feelings, they believed he was losing his mind."

Remus shivered and rubbed his arms with shaking hands.

"When he escaped they assumed him dead, then failed to report to the Ministry that they could not find his body. There will be a full enquiry, of course."

"Meanwhile Black roams free," Snape muttered.

"But why now?" Lupin appealed. "He's had years to fool the Dementors."

The headmaster nodded gravely. "A good question."

"And why did he come here?"

"Certainly not to harm the boy," Dumbledore said pensively. "He had ample opportunity to do that."

"Black gave Harry a message for me," Snape admitted reluctantly. "He remembered while I was bathing him."

"A message?"

"He told Harry he would watch over him. For Harry's whole life, he said."

There was silence in the room as the three adult wizards looked at one another.

"I don't understand," Lupin said in despair. "What does it mean?"

"It means there's more to the story of Sirius Black than we know," the headmaster said thoughtfully. "Perhaps one day we will find out the rest of it."

888

Harry seemed quite happy to sleep in his own bed that night, eyes still half closed he made no protest as his father laid him down and pulled the covers over him.

"All right, Harry?" Snape asked softly and Harry murmured and snuggled into his pillow.

Exhaustion dragged at his weary limbs but for the moment Snape felt unable to draw himself away from his son's bedside. Candlelight hollowed out the thin bones of his face and lit the long sweep of his jet black lashes. Could the child really be as untroubled as he seemed? Surely there would be some reaction beyond a handful of tears?

He hadn't even realised he'd dozed off until the old clock chimed midnight and Snape jerked awake to find Harry laying back against the pillows, staring at him through eyes darkened by the dim candle light.

"Harry?" Snape murmured, a little discomforted by the silent stare. How long had the child been watching him doze?

"Why are you sleeping in the chair, daddy?" Harry's voice was soft and sleepy.

Snape brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes. "I thought you might have a bad dream," he said honestly. "After your experience today."

Harry turned on his side and nestled his head on the pillow, jade eyes growing thoughtful.

"It was scary," he admitted. "The dog 'specially, cos his eyes were all yellow and he was so big. I 'membered Aunt Marge's dog, Ripper, when it jumped at me and I din't like it!"

"I imagine you didn't," Snape murmured.

"But I was mostly scared that you weren't there. I wouldn't have been afraid if you were there to look after me." Harry scratched at his white pillowcase with one idle fingernail. "I don't like it when I can't find you."

"I felt the same way," Snape confided quietly. The boy was still remarkably calm and it worried him. Perhaps the experience hadn't sunk in fully yet? "But the man, Harry," he probed cautiously. "Didn't he frighten you?"

"At first," Harry conceded. "Mostly cos he was dirty and smelly like the men who slept in the park and Aunt Petunia used to call the police about." The little boy frowned thoughtfully. "And because he was a stranger, I suppose. But he wasn't scary when he started to talk. Not nearly as scary as Uncle Vernon was when he yelled and his face got all red!"

"That sounds pretty scary too."

"It was!" Harry agreed fervently. "Daddy? Who was that man? Why did he steal me away? Was he a gypsy? Cos Aunt Petunia said gypsies come and take bad boys away."

"First of all you are not a bad boy," Snape said firmly. "You're my boy and I wouldn't let you be bad for very long, would I?"

Harry wrinkled his nose and chuckled into his pillow. "Uh uh," he agreed.

"And second of all, what did I tell you about what your aunt had to say?"

"Um, it was all a pack of lies," Harry recalled. "So he wasn't a gypsy?"

"No, he is many things but I'm reasonably sure a gypsy isn't among them. He knew your parents, Harry. The Potters. Long ago."

"He said he did," Harry said pensively. "He looked sad when he talked about them. Like..." Harry groped for a comparison, frowning and thoughtful. "Like I was sad before I had you. Cos I didn't have them any more."

Snape studied Harry's face, wondering at his sensitivity. One day he would have to tell Harry the truth about Sirius Black. His godfather. Traitor to those he'd professed to love. How could a little child hope to understand that? How could anyone? Years ago Snape could remember marvelling at Black's betrayal and then shrugging it off, his loathing for the man setting nothing beyond the scope of his infamy.

Yet now... Now he had someone of his own to love, for the first time in his life. And now it was beyond even him, a grown man with more than a passing acquaintance with darkness, to understand how you betrayed that. What temptation, what threat could lead a man to that end?

And what regrets might haunt that mind, driven mad by Azkaban?

Snape shivered and he lifted one hand and covered Harry's nervously twisting fingers with his own.

"Don't worry about it, Harry. He's gone and he isn't coming back. And you're not sad now, are you?"

Harry looked at their joined hands and smiled. "No, daddy."

"Or frightened?"

"No, daddy," Harry repeated. "Cos I know..."

"What do you know, my Harry?" Snape whispered as the little voice trailed away.

Harry's smile was shy and trusting. "That you'll come find me."

"Always."

888

"Am I still going to school today?" Harry asked over breakfast the next morning. Pickle hovered at his shoulder, huge round eyes studying the child anxiously as he ate.

Snape was doing his share of studying too. Harry had slept through the rest of the night once he'd dozed off again, and this morning, while still a little less boisterous than usual, seemed fine. "We both are."

The boy nodded and reached for a slice of apple. "Good," he said. "It's painting today and I want to wear my new smock Madame made for me."

The door opened and Neville pattered into the room, followed by Lupin.

"Harry!" he said, flying over to the table. "Are you all right?" Neville's eyes had dark circles beneath them and his lips were quivering as he looked Harry up and down, as if still expecting to see him missing a limb or two.

Harry shrugged. "I'm fine," he said. "It was pretty scary though. Did you see how big that dog was?"

"Sit down for some breakfast, Neville," Snape ordered. He shot a glance at Lupin who still stood in the doorway. "I'm sure you've already eaten, Lupin."

The tutor nodded and took a step into the room. "Can I see you for a moment, Severus?"

"Then he melted or something, or at least that's what it looked like, and he was the big dog!" Harry was saying to Neville around his apple slice.

Neville's eyes were round and he covered his mouth with both hands. "No!" he exclaimed in muffled tones.

Snape stood up and pushed the plate of fruit in front of Neville. "Eat," he ordered. "Harry, don't talk with your mouth full."

"Harry seems all right," Lupin said nervously as Snape accompanied him out the door and onto the landing.

"I'm sure he has deep emotional scars that will haunt him well into adulthood," Snape said blandly.

Lupin looked wretched. "You must believe me, Severus. If I had known Sirius was free, if I had known he posed any threat to Harry, I would have come clean to Dumbledore about the whole business."

"Perhaps you should proffer your resignation as a sign of your contrition?" Snape suggested politely.

"I already did." Lupin shrugged thin shoulders. "He turned me down. He said that now more than ever Harry needs stability." Lupin straightened his shoulders and faced Snape directly. "But I will go if you think that I should. If you think it will be better for Harry."

"How wonderfully melodramatic of you," Snape sneered. "But unnecessarily so. It is the headmaster who employs you, not me. If he's happy to go on paying your wages, it's not for me to say otherwise."

Lupin sagged.

Snape took a step closer and caught amber eyes again, noting with satisfaction how they widened with just a trace of fear as they met his. "But mark me, werewolf," Snape breathed. "Old loyalties are dead. Dead and buried. It's to my boy you owe your loyalty now. To my son's safety. And if ever I have cause to doubt that loyalty..."

"You won't," Lupin said firmly. "I swear you won't."

Snape held his glare just a fraction of a second after Lupin's gaze faltered, then stepped back, well satisfied he'd driven his message home.

"You'd better get to the classroom," Snape suggested casually. "I'll be bringing the boys up soon."

Inside Harry was standing on his chair trying to show Neville how tall the dog had been and Snape tapped him smartly on his behind as he crossed back to his seat at the table.

"Sit down, Harry, before you fall down."

"Ow," Harry said, rubbing his bottom as he sat back down. "I was only showing Neville-"

"I heard you. But you have school in fifteen minutes and Neville still has to get changed."

"Anyway," Neville said fervently. "I 'member how big that dog-man was! I had bad dreams about it all night!"

"I had a bad dream too," Harry said matter-of-factly. "But I din't even hardly wake up."

"Didn't," Snape corrected.

"Didn't," Harry repeated dutifully, rolling his eyes at Neville.

"I saw that," Snape said.


	19. Chapter 19

Harry frowned down at his page, brow wrinkling. He hated mathematics more than just about anything. He always had. Even back at his old school he'd groaned when Mrs Taylor had told them all to get their maths books out.

Mr Lupin didn't use maths books though. He wrote the sums on his blackboard, usually while sitting at his desk holding his wand. In Harry's opinion that was the only part of maths lessons that was worthwhile, watching Mr Lupin wave his wand and seeing that chalk scratch away at the board, dancing as if to a playful tune.

Neville didn't seem to think much about it, tongue protruding from the corner of his mouth he would already be writing the sums down. Neville liked maths, he said the numbers always did what they were supposed to, and never surprised you. Harry, who couldn't get the numbers to do one thing he wanted them to do, disagreed.

And for Neville the dancing chalk was just another part of the day. He didn't even seem to notice the magic. Harry did though. No matter how many times he saw it, there was always something exciting when someone picked up a wand and waved it. There was always something that made Harry hold his breath as he waited to see what would happen next. He didn't think he would ever get tired of it.

Harry blew a strand of hair out of his eyes and sighed heavily. Reaching for his eraser he rubbed at the page, frowning down at the mess of smudges and crossed out numbers.

"Having trouble, Harry?"

Mr Lupin was at his shoulder and Harry looked up crossly.

"I can't get this to take away," he complained. "Why won't it work?" He looked over at Neville's neat page with a sour grimace.

"Ah, I think I see the problem." Mr Lupin's finger traced his page. "You've borrowed here, to take the nine away from the five."

"You told me to!" Harry defended.

"Yes, I know." Mr Lupin's voice was patient. "But I also told you when you borrow you have to pay back, right? Here?"

Harry squinted at the page, a light dawning. "I forgot," he said sheepishly.

Mr Lupin chuckled and ruffled his hair. "Try again," he ordered kindly, so with a sigh Harry buckled back down.

"I've finished," Neville said proudly.

"Put it on my desk, then you may take your book to the reading corner."

Harry sighed enviously as Neville trotted over with his book then raced to the reading corner. There were rows of interesting books on the shelves in the corner, with pictures that moved and almost told stories by themselves. There were also big squishy cushions and a potted plant that liked to tickle your ears while you read. He sighed loudly again but Mr Lupin only nodded firmly at him, so Harry had no choice but to bend back over the hated sums. It was all so unfair sometimes.

888

It was all so unfair sometimes, Snape thought as he surveyed his First Year Potions class. A sea of faces stared back at him, each more useless and lazy than the last. How pleasant it would be to see just one intelligent look, he thought glumly. Just one keen student.

A Ravenclaw boy put his hand up eagerly.

Snape turned on him with a snarl. "Put your hand down, boy," he snapped. "When I want to hear your inane questions I'll ask." He tapped one foot as the crestfallen boy dropped his hand. "Better. Now, if you could possibly bring yourselves to gather around the large cauldron for the final stage? Thank you," he murmured sarcastically as the students filed past him. "So kind of you. We're going to add the dried gizzards you just sliced. If you did your jobs the potion should thicken and start to turn brown. If however you have completely failed to follow instructions, as I have good reason to suspect you have, then the potion will stay yellow. In which case instead of a handy vanishing solution we'll have, what? Miss Jenkins?"

Poor Jenkins jumped a mile. "S... sir?" she stuttered.

"A mess, Miss Jenkins," Snape said. "A huge mess and a waste of my valuable time. Rather like the bulk of your house. Now, who would like to add their gizzards first?"

"I would, sir!" the Ravenclaw boy said smartly. He pushed forward at the same time as the Hufflepuff girl flung herself backwards, her eyes and nose red. The result was a general heave of the surrounding students and the instant upheaval of the ancient old stand the large cauldron rested on.

It happened very quickly and in slow motion all at once. The red eyed sniveler was pushed backwards towards the gently bubbling cauldron, her out-flung hand perilously close to the flames. Instinctively Snape darted forward and pushed her away, but not before the contents of the cauldron had shifted violently, sending most of its gluey yellow mixture into Snape's face.

888

The lesson was nearly over by the time Harry had finished his last sum. He happily deposited his book on the tutor's desk and then bounded to the corner, leaping onto the biggest cushion and giggling as he tumbled over onto his back.

"That corner is for quiet reading, Harry," Mr Lupin called over. "Not athletics."

"Yes, Mr Lupin," Harry said dutifully, scrambling back into a sitting position. "What are you reading?" he asked Neville. The round faced boy marked his place with one finger and closed the cover around it. Depicted on the front was a beautiful garden, flowers waving gently under a soft summer sun. Even as Harry watched a fat bumblebee buzzed by, circling the drowsing head of one flower before happily settling on its golden petal.

"Not the teddy bear book again!" Harry exclaimed. "It's so boring!"

"I like it," Neville said with a shrug. "He has adventures, you know."

"Yeah, with a dumb old rabbit." Harry rolled his eyes. "They don't have any pirates or sword fights or anything!"

"There doesn't have to be a sword fight in every book," Neville defended. "It can be exciting without swords or fighting or people getting mad at each other." The boy opened the book and showed Harry a picture. "See? They've turned really small in this chapter. Look, even the flowers are over their heads."

Harry studied the bright coloured picture. It actually did look rather interesting. "Look!" he exclaimed, pointing at the page. "Look at the ant!"

"This is the exciting bit," Neville confirmed. "Listen." With a frown and a finger following the words Neville began to read from the page, and despite the lack of pirates Harry settled in to listen. Big Ted and Mr Bunnsy might look a bit soppy, but they actually were quite brave. By the end of the chapter Big Ted had made a harness from straw and they were riding their mighty ant steed up the side of a towering hollyhock.

Neville's voice trailed away as the door to their classroom opened and Professor McGonagall strode in. She flicked them a quick glance and then hurried over to Mr Lupin's desk. The tutor rose to greet her.

"Harry, look," Neville said, pointing up at the big old nursery clock on their wall. It was well past three o'clock.

"Where's my dad?" Harry wondered. He glanced back at the Professor and Mr Lupin, feeling his heart start to beat harder in his chest. Their heads were together and they were speaking in low and urgent tones. Now and then they looked over at the boys, their faces worried.

"Where's my dad?" Harry repeated more loudly, clambering to his feet. Silently Neville stood too, leaning against his shoulder.

"Just a moment, Harry," Mr Lupin called, forcing a smile on his face. Harry wasn't reassured. Professor McGonagall was saying something else, her face averted.

Harry hated to cry in front of other people. Even if he fell over and hurt himself, even when he was picked up and carried away by a giant dog, he would rather get mad and stamp his foot, than cry. But suddenly he couldn't help the panicked tears that welled up in his eyes or the way his throat closed up so he could hardly whisper.

"I want my dad," he said. Then he started sobbing.

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"Poppy assures me your eyes will be right as rain by tomorrow," Dumbledore said and Snape felt a comforting pat on one hand. He stiffened and slid it under the covers Madame Pomfrey had insisted on tucking around him. He had argued that it was his face that was burnt, not his feet, but she had very firmly pushed him down onto the hospital bed, and what was he supposed to do? Storm out? When right now he'd be hard pressed to find the door without falling over his feet?

"She told me the same thing," he said evenly. "I have no cause to doubt her."

"Minerva has gone to let Remus know what is going on," Dumbledore continued. "He's promised to take the boys for the night. It will be an adventure for them."

"I don't want Harry to come here," Snape said quickly. He tried to grimace under the bandages and regretted it instantly as a twinge of pain pulled at his rapidly healing skin. "I don't want the boy worried."

"Fair enough."

Snape cocked his head, listening hard. It was so difficult to judge what other people were thinking when you couldn't see their faces. "But?" he ventured, hearing the doubt in the old wizard's voice.

"But he is going to be worried about you," Dumbledore continued. "Surely it would be better for him to see you and set his mind at rest?"

Snape was already shaking his head, although it was a very small shake on account of the dull pounding pain of a headache behind his eyes. "No," he returned with weary stubbornness. "Harry relies on me to be strong for him. The last thing he needs is to see me weak and helpless." Then he bit his lip. Had he given too much away? Was there anyone else nearby, listening in? He felt like a snail that had lost its shell.

"I rather think you're underestimating your son there, Severus," Dumbledore said softly. "Do you honestly think young Harry would think any the less of you for being hurt?"

But Snape just shook his head again. He couldn't explain it and he was too sore and tired to try. He just couldn't stomach the thought of his boy staring at him with pity or worse. With a shudder Snape remembered the Longbottoms, imprisoned in St Mungo's, visited by their son. How would it be for Harry, if Poppy Pomfrey couldn't mend this hurt? Would Harry have to be coaxed to visit his pitiable parent locked away in the dark of some charity ward?

Dumbledore was patting his other hand now and to Snape's horror he realised it was clenched in the blankets to hide his shaking fingers. With a snarl he pulled his fingers free and crossed his arms tightly over his chest. Thoughts like that could drive a man mad. He'd had worse accidents over the years, it was unavoidable when working with dangerous ingredients. Although he'd never known a searing pain like the one that had taken his light away. He'd never felt so alone in the dark before.

"Ah," Dumbledore said, and Snape heard his chair being scraped back as he stood up. "Here's Remus now."

"The damn fool hasn't bought Harry here, has he?" Snape snarled.

"No," Dumbledore supplied and Snape scowled harder.

"Then he's left the child alone?" he demanded.

"Not alone." Lupin's voice was sharp and annoyed. "He and Neville are with Professor McGonagall outside. I wanted to check and see that you were fit for company before I bought them in."

"Severus doesn't feel up to any company, Remus," the headmaster said. "Perhaps he might see Harry later tonight, after they've both had their supper?"

"I told you-" Snape began, only to be cut off by Lupin.

"Tough," the tutor said loudly. "Harry's worked himself up into a state. None of us will get any peace until he's seen you."

Snape's headache was full blown now and slammed one clenched fist on the bed next to him. "What on earth did you tell the child?" he demanded angrily.

"I didn't have to tell him anything," Lupin shot back, and he sounded every bit as enraged as Snape felt. "You haven't been a minute late picking him up since the day he started class and today McGonagall arrived looking worried. What can I say? The boy's astute."

The boy's scared to death, Snape thought. He has a fear of abandonment that goes bone deep and will probably never completely go away his life long. Even when stolen away by a murderous Animagus his greatest comfort on his return was the knowledge that his father had come for him. That his father hadn't left him behind again.

Now his father was hurt and Harry's fears would all be rising to the fore. Snape swallowed hard. It looked like his own fears would have to take a back seat. He would have to let Harry visit him.

"Perhaps we should just set the boys minds to rest," Dumbledore advised softly, but it didn't matter. Lupin was already walking away.

Snape braced himself for tears and questions, ears straining for the sounds of the big doors opening and a quiet exchange of voices. Then footsteps approached and he felt the hairs prickle on the back of his neck. He hated this! His son was here and he couldn't look into that expressive little face and try to read his feelings.

"Harry," Lupin's voice prompted gently.

"Daddy?" Harry's voice was uncertain, hitching with sobbing breaths and Snape wondered what he looked like. The bandages covered him with barely a gap from brow to chin, his hair had been ruthlessly scraped back by the mediwitch and was clubbed at the back of his neck and he was wearing a hospital gown to replace his ruined clothes. Perhaps Harry couldn't even tell it was his father under all this?

"It's all right, Harry," he said as evenly as he could. Straining ears caught an in-drawn breath and then the patter of small feet a moment before the edge of the bed depressed and Harry's hard little head collided with his breast bone. Small hands clutched at him and Snape awkwardly patted the child's back, aware of the staring eyes around them. "It's all right," he repeated more softly.

"You look very poorly, Mr Snape." The uncertain little voice was Neville's.

Snape inclined his head a little. Harry was still holding him tightly and he felt the tickle of baby soft hair under his chin. "I'm fine, Neville," he said clearly. "Madame Pomfrey has given me some wonderful ointment. I won't even need these bandages by tomorrow."

Harry was silent, small hands still clutching his infirmary robe like claws.

"And will your eyes be all right?" Neville wondered and Snape nodded again.

"Good as new," a brisk voice chimed in and with a sigh of relief Snape identified Madame Pomfrey. She would soon clear this lot out and he could get on with getting this over with. Harry had seen him now and he would be reassured his father would be back tomorrow, right as rain, as Dumbledore put it.

"My patient needs his rest," Madame said severely and predictably. "I'd like him to take a nap before his supper, so you'd all better toddle off now."

Not sure he liked his napping orders aired quite so publicly, but nevertheless grateful for the respite, Snape nodded.

"Yes," he said, trying to sound regretful. "I just need some rest and I'll be fine." He patted Harry's back again, then shaped one narrow shoulder. "Harry?"

"Harry?" Lupin said as well, when Harry didn't move. "You and Neville will be staying with me tonight, won't that be fun? It'll be a sleepover."

"I want to stay with my dad." Harry's voice was muffled on account of his mouth still being buried in his father's throat.

"I know you do," Madame said sympathetically. "But this is a hospital, Harry."

Snape gently tugged his shoulder but Harry only gripped him more tightly. His head shook, cheek pressing into his father's breastbone. "No," the boy said tearfully. "I want to stay with my dad!"

Someone else's hand was on Harry's other shoulder but Snape pushed it away. He wouldn't have the child dragged away from him. Harry just needed some more reassurance, that's all.

"Lupin," he said shortly. "Will you take Neville with you now? Harry can stay with me for a little while longer."

Harry was shaking his head against him again and Poppy Pomfrey was objecting loudly but Dumbledore overrode them all.

"Severus is right," he said firmly. "Harry will be no trouble for a little while longer, Poppy." A hand patted his shoulder now but this time Snape submitted. He wanted to have a quiet word with Harry and he couldn't do that with eyes staring at him.

"See you, Harry," Neville said.

"I'll come back for you before supper, Harry," Lupin said firmly.

"I'll draw the curtains so you might at least get some rest," Poppy Pomfrey said reproachfully.

Harry's head stirred and Snape felt a hand gently tousle his son's hair. "You hold onto your dad for a while, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly. "I think you both might need a good hug."

Footsteps faded into the distance, doors clicked closed, curtained screens magically shifted into place with a wooden scrape. And they were alone.

"Harry," Snape began, free to stroke the boy's soft hair gently now they were alone. "I need you to be a good boy now, understand? You must do what I tell you."

"I want to stay with you," Harry said stubbornly. Then his voice grew tearful again. "Please, daddy."

"This is a hospital, Harry. Madame Pomfrey has sick people to take care of, she can't take care of you as well."

"Then let's go home!" Harry said earnestly. "R'member when I was poorly, daddy? And you looked after me? I want to look after you this time, 'til you're all better."

It was too hard not to be able to look into those expressive almond eyes, hard not to be able to reassure Harry with his own gaze. Instead all Snape could do was curl his long sensitive fingers around Harry's soft cheek, feeling the baby smooth skin, the damp tracks of tears. Harry's chin was trembling and Snape stroked it gently.

"That's a kind thought, Harry," he murmured. "But you don't need to worry about taking care of me. Madame will do a fine job, and it's only until tomorrow."

"I don't care!" Harry denied. "I can help you, daddy, truly I can! I can, um, hold your water, and fluff your pillows, and um..." Harry trailed away. "I can read you a story!" he said suddenly, voice triumphant.

"Harry," Snape said in fond exasperation. "You'll be bored in an hour. I'm to have a nap, remember?"

"I won't be bored," Harry insisted. A small hand caught his wrist, long little fingers curling around and holding tight. "Please, daddy," Harry pleaded lowly. "Please don't send me away."

_I don't like it when I can't find you._

Snape remembered a low voice, a nervously tracing finger. He huffed an exasperated sigh. "All right," he gave in. "You can stay. But mind me, Harry," he warned. "If you get bored or make a nuisance of yourself, then I'll send you off to your tutor and you'll go, understood?"

"I won't be a nuisance, daddy," Harry promised earnestly. "Are you having your nap now? Shall I fluff your pillow?"

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True to his promise Harry curled up quietly next to his father while Snape lay back and attempted to nap. He thought he might have dozed now and then, stirring at the inevitable hospital sounds of a dropped pan, a hoarse cough. He knew he was only half asleep when he heard Madame Pomfrey tiptoe up and order Harry onto an armchair that she summoned to his bedside. He tuned out their low chatter and tried to pretend that his eyes were closed because of the weariness that dragged at him, and not because of the bandages swathing his skin.

It was a relief when the screens were drawn back, even though he felt more weary when he sat up than he had when he lay down.

"Ready for some supper?" Pomfrey said in her annoyingly cheerful bedside voice.

"I can help you eat," Harry offered as she laid the tray on his lap.

"Please put the screens back," Snape said brusquely, nose twitching at the scent of roast chicken and gravy. He was a trifle hungry, but the thought of tackling such a meal without even being able to find his knife and fork without groping was beyond imagining. He'd rather starve.

"Remember what I told you, Harry," Poppy called as the wooden screens slid back into place. "Remember your clock face."

Snape shifted back on his pillows, pushing the tray further down his lap. If he could distract Harry he could find his wand on the bedside table and spell the food away. It was bound to be easier than arguing with the mediwitch about eating it.

"What is she talking about?" he said irritably. "A clock?"

"I know how to tell time," Harry said proudly from his elbow. Snape heard the clink of silverware and a fork was pressed into his hand. "All the food's cut up," the little boy said in a instructional tone. "And the chicken is at, um, one, two, three o'clock. Get it, daddy?"

Snape did. With his left hand he carefully felt for his plate, curving the span of his hand around its rim. His right hand, holding the fork, found its other side. Left to himself he would go hungry, he'd done without food longer when engrossed in his work. But he could feel Harry anxiously hovering by his side, breath held.

Gamely Snape stabbed with his fork and was rewarded by Harry's chuckle and praise. "You got it!" he crowed. "Three o'clock!"

"Eat your own supper, Harry," Snape ordered, more proud of the child than his own efforts.

"Okay," Harry said agreeably. "But your potatoes are at, um, six o'clock. And there's green beans at nine o'clock. You can leave them if you want," he said generously.

"You can't," Snape returned, spearing a potato next. He actually felt a little better as he ate, maybe he'd been hungrier than he thought, maybe it was the weariness and pain that had been making him light headed.

There was a clank of Harry's silverware on his plate. "Mr Lupin's coming," he said anxiously. "You won't let him take me, will you? You said I could stay if I was good."

Lupin's cheerful voice called from the other side of the screen. "Hi, Harry. I can see you peeking out at me, may I come in?"

Harry was by Snape's side, hand on the sleeve of his infirmary gown, as if he was planning to hold on tight again and not let go.

"We're only eating, Lupin," Snape said, carefully laying his fork down with a nonchalant ease. He hoped Lupin noticed the half empty plate and the fact that he was feeding himself.

"I'm staying with my dad," Harry blurted out.

"Harry," Lupin began but Snape interrupted him.

"Harry's helping me," he said firmly. "I'll arrange with Madame Pomfrey for a cot by my bed ."

"If you're sure," Lupin said, voice doubtful.

"I'm helping." Harry's voice was stubborn.

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Plates were cleared away and around him Snape could hear the school settling in for the night. He couldn't sense dark or light behind his thick bandages but he could feel the hush of evening in the voices of the visitors and the medical staff as they checked their few patients.

Snape found himself glad he'd given into Harry as another inevitable need cropped up.

"I meant what I said to your tutor, Harry," he praised. "You've been very helpful."

Small hands fluffed his pillows for about the tenth time and Snape suppressed a sigh as he leaned forward.

"Do you think you can help me to the bathroom?"

"Madame said there's a po under the bed," Harry reminded him.

"And I'm grateful for it," Snape said with complete insincerity. "But I don't need it, because I have you, don't I?" He pushed the covers down and swung around, planting his feet firmly on the cold stone floor.

"Do you want to hold my hand?" Harry offered as Snape heaved himself upright and stood swaying for a moment. It was actually quite difficult to get his balance without his sight and he found himself automatically reaching out. His groping hand found Harry's shoulder and he caught it and held on while his equilibrium settled down.

"This works," Snape said, catching his breath. "If we just walk slowly?"

Harry left him for a moment to push a screen aside, then he was back and Snape held his shoulder while the child led him between the beds.

"Good job, Harry!" a young girl's voice called.

"Yes, well done, lad." That was a portrait's voice, old fashioned and prim.

"Severus Snape!" Madame Pomfrey's voice was scolding. "Next time at least put a robe and slippers on before you go for a jaunt."

"Yes, Madame," he said politely. Inside his heart was pounding and he could feel himself cringing at the eyes that were staring at him, living and painted alike. But all the same he forced himself, step by step, down through the infirmary to the toilet and shower room.

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Poppy lifted her teacup again and nodded down the infirmary to the door the pair had just disappeared through. "You never seemed to have any doubts," she accused. "That those two would work."

"I've had my moments," Dumbledore admitted.

"I never did," Poppy said complacently. "Not from the moment I saw them together. You know, I remember young Severus from all those years ago. Children come and go, but some, well, they stay with you." The mediwitch sighed and leaned back in her chair. "All big black eyes and long messy hair he used to hide behind. All snarls and scowls like to take your hand off."

Dumbledore smiled into his teacup. "I remember."

"First year he picked up a bit of a fever, well, he was naught but skin and bones and it hit him hard." Poppy shook her head. "I sat by his bed all night. Not that he needed me, I soon sent his fever packing. It was the way he looked at me that kept me by his side. Every time he woke in the night he'd peer over through that curtain of hair, and every time he'd get this surprised look on his face. Like he couldn't believe I was still there. Like he couldn't believe anyone would care enough to still be there. You know?"

"Sadly, I know all too well."

"I saw that look again, first time he bought me Harry."

"I've seen Harry casting Severus those looks a time or two myself."

Poppy chuckled. "Yes," she said archly. "Harry. Right."

The headmaster shot his mediwitch an admiring glance. "You see quite a bit, don't you."

"Beyond head colds and scraped knees you mean?" Poppy retorted. "Perhaps, perhaps. But I saw enough first time he brought me Harry to know those two need each other. In fact, sometimes I'm not sure which one needs the other more!"

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It was almost with a sense of triumph that Snape found the edge of his bed upon their return to their little corner. It was certainly with a sigh of relief that he sank down on the mattress.

"My cot is here," Harry said, pulling the covers over his legs. "I can help you in the night too, daddy."

"What would I do without you?" Snape said lightly. Harry chuckled and responded happily enough, but it was a thought much on Snape's mind as they settled in to sleep. What would he do without his boy?

He turned onto his side, winced at the pressure on his cheek and rolled over on his back again. He was tired, his face ached and his skin was starting the inevitable deep itch magical healing always caused. But his mind wouldn't let him rest, his thoughts spun, twisting from Harry to his work to the accident and back to Harry again.

What if his sight wasn't restored? Never mind his job, his potion work, any chance at a decent livelihood. Without his sight he didn't have a hope of keeping his son. Forget Fudge's hearing in January, the Ministry would come and take Harry away as soon as they knew.

And then what? That charity ward at St Mungo's loomed closer than ever. There was no place for him here without Harry, if he wasn't a means of keeping the child safe then Dumbledore would certainly have no use for him.

Harry was snoring softly in the cot by his bed and somewhere down the ward someone coughed again. There was a squeak of the soles of Poppy's shoes and the clink of a bed spring. But here in this bed Snape had never felt so alone. The blackness of the night pressed against him from without, and from within the darkness of his own useless eyes bandaged tightly shut beneath layers of cloth.

His hands gripped the bedclothes, his chest feeling tight with the effort to breath. He could feel himself beginning to panic but he didn't seem to be able to shake it off. It was all too much, too dark, too quiet, all his connections to the world suddenly shut off, locked away, blown out. Maybe if he pulled these bandages off, maybe if he ripped them away from his eyes, maybe if he could see then he could breathe, hear, feel again...

A hand touched him and he jumped, the edge of the bed depressed and Harry was crawling under the covers with him, sleep-warm and familiar, the scent of his soap and shampoo rising from his baby soft hair as he tucked his head under his father's chin.

"Had a bad dream," he mumbled. "C'n I sleep with you?"

His head was already heavy and he was snoring again.

Snape's clutching fingers relaxed, the muscles in his arms twinging as his tension released. Harry was all knees and elbows as he snuggled closer, but all Snape felt was the warmth of him, all he heard were the gentle sighs of breath, all he could smell were the familiar scents from his son's soft skin.

The darkness was still there, but now it was just the night surrounding him, not pressing down against him. And it wasn't within him any more. Harry filled that space.

Harry was his connection to the rest of the world.

Snape wrapped his arms around his son and finally managed to sleep.

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A touch of cool air soothed his exposed skin as the bandages unwound themselves. Light through his closed eyelids made him wince. Around him feet shifted nervously as he forced his still sticky eye-lids apart and peered out through spiky lashes.

Blurred shapes swam into focus and the first thing Severus Snape saw was Harry's face, anxious and pale.

He was the most beautiful thing Snape had ever seen.


	20. Chapter 20

The vault had a cold, unused smell. Around him were piles of gold, silver and bronze. He had always sworn he wouldn't do this, but then he'd sworn a lot of things. Never to let anyone so close that he'd break an oath to save them, for one.

A whisper of a breeze curled around his legs, stirring the dust, forming shapes in his imagination.

"For our son." he murmured, as if in apology. Or appeasement.

Then he opened up the bag and began to fill it with gold.

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"I can get it done, but it won't be cheap."

"Discretion is vital."

"That's why it won't be cheap. No one who buys this kind of thing wants it advertised. It will take a month."

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Paper money had an odd crackle to it. It would never feel right, no matter how much he used it. But the muggle's eyes lit up just as if it had been a hand full of gold he was clutching.

"I suppose I could come down a little on the price," she said doubtfully. But her eyes were fixed on the wad of bills and when her tongue darted out and moistened her lips hungrily he knew he'd won.

"I didn't think anyone would want such an old place way out here," she said while the signatures were drying on the bill of sale.

"I like old," he said.

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"They're perfect." He fondled the jade lozenges, feeling the links of gold slither through his fingers like oiled silk.

"Once on they can never be removed, you understand that." It was a statement. Li knew he understood.

It was what he had asked for, after all.

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The letter arrived by special delivery while his son was off surveying the Christmas decorations with his tutor. Through his numb shock he could only be glad of that. It wasn't as if he hadn't been half expecting it after all. But he still needed a moment to school his face, to mask his worry.

The gargoyle at the door loftily informed him that Dumbledore was away. He stood in the hallway staring at the smugly grotesque doorkeeper, the letter clenched in his fist.

So, it began.

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Snape found Harry with Lupin, leaning on the balustrade and gazing in delight at the transformed galleries. "Look, daddy!" he exclaimed, pointing upwards. "Even the Fat Friar is decorated!"

"Hello, young fella," the ghost said, sailing serenely by, a necklace of transparent tinsel about his neck.

"He's not scary at all," Harry confided, eyes still darting about. "Look! There's Professor Flitwick. He's bringing real fairies to put on the Christmas Tree." The little boy shivered in anticipation. "I can't wait for Christmas dinner in the Great Hall."

"I thought it was Christmas presents you couldn't wait for," Lupin teased and Harry grinned back over his shoulder.

"I've asked for a shiny bell for my broomstick," he said with satisfaction. "What about you, Mr Lupin?"

Lupin stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm, well, Harry. I couldn't ask for any better than some more of that wonderful ointment you gave me for my last present."

Harry looked smugly delighted. "P'haps someone will give you some," he said slyly.

"I hope so, Harry," Lupin grinned. "Cured my sunburn in a trice."

Harry looked gratified, then he frowned a little, small brow wrinkling. "How long is a trice?" he wondered.

Lupin snorted a laugh and glanced over at him but Snape couldn't muster more than a shrug.

"More than an instant but less than a flash," Lupin supplied and Harry frowned a little harder, obviously trying to work this out. "Look, Harry, there's Hagrid. Why don't you go say hello?"

Harry glanced down to see the huge doors shut behind Hagrid. The groundskeeper shook the snow off of himself and the tree he was dragging, causing a kind of mini snowdrift right there in the hall.

"Oh, Hagrid!" Harry called, waving. "Hie, Hagrid!"

"Harry!" The groundskeeper's voice boomed out and he raised a huge hand and waved back enthusiastically.

"May I go say hello, daddy?" Harry asked eagerly and Snape nodded absently. Harry didn't give him time to reconsider, he was away. In a trice.

The two wizards watched Harry race down the stairs and rush up to Hagrid, stopping just short of the melting snow and tilting his head way back to talk to him.

"I certainly hope Santa managed to find that bell Harry's been going on about," Lupin chuckled.

Snape shrugged again, eyes still on his son. Hagrid was holding up the tree and Harry was clapping his hands together in delight.

"Is everything all right, Severus? You're a little more quiet than usual."

"Do you know when Dumbledore's returning?" Snape asked abruptly.

Lupin frowned. "He's away till Christmas Day. He said he was hoping to make it back for dinner in the Great Hall."

"Christmas Day? Did he leave you any way to reach him?"

"No. Severus, what's wrong?"

"This." Snape pulled the letter from his coat and thrust it under Lupin's nose. The tutor leaned back against the balustrade and read the missive, eyes widening in shock.

"Christmas Eve," he read numbly. "Tomorrow? He can't do that!"

"He seems to think he can," Snape snapped back.

Lupin looked back down at the letter crumpled in his fist. "He must have waited until he knew Dumbledore would be away," he muttered. "Half the Wizengamut will be off as well. But to bring the hearing forward with only a day's notice! He can't do it!"

"So you've said, Lupin. But who's here to stop him? For all his assurances I notice Dumbledore has followed his own inclinations as usual, and left Harry and I to sink or swim."

"That's not fair!" Lupin defended. "How could he know Fudge would do something like this?"

"He should have known," Snape said stubbornly. "He told me to trust him and I did, and where has it led me?"

Lupin looked back at him determinedly. "There must be a way we can reach him. I'll get a message to as many of the old crowd as I can. We'll find him, Severus, I promise."

Snape shrugged off the reassurance, his mind already racing ahead. "You do that," he murmured absently, eyes still on Harry down in the hall. "I have my own tasks ahead of me." Robe swirling about his ankles Snape spun and headed for his rooms.

"Severus?" Lupin called after him. "What are you going to, oh, blast it! Hagrid!" he called. "Watch Harry for a minute, will you!"

Snape left Lupin behind him as he headed for the tower, plans racing through his head.

"Severus, will you bloody slow down!" Lupin caught up with him at the door to the tower apartments and grabbed at his sleeve as the front sprang open before him. "Are you listening to me?" the tutor panted.

Snape shook him off easily. "You're supposed to be looking after Harry today," he said curtly. "I have business to take care of-"

"Oh no, you bloody don't," Lupin said abruptly. And then he was pushing Snape into his and Harry's rooms and kicking the door closed behind him.

"Get out of here!" Snape ordered furiously. "I don't have time for this!"

"Why?" Lupin snapped. "Because you're going to bundle Harry up and try to steal him away? Are you mad?"

"I must have been," Snape snapped back, all his worry and anger bursting out of him. "Mad to trust Dumbledore! Mad to let you and your well meaning, ineffectual bloody Order anywhere near my son! Look where it's gotten me!"

"They were your Order too, once," Lupin shot back. "You trusted us with your life, trust Dumbledore now! He won't let-"

Snape laughed harshly, throwing his head back, twisting his lips with grim humour. "Trusted?" he hooted derisively. "With my life?" His mocking laughter turned to cold, bitter rage. "Not for a moment. Not for one bloody second did I trust your Order with my life. And I was never one of you," he spat, poking Lupin in the chest with his finger, forcing him back against the door. "Any more than I was one of them. I have always been on one side, and one side only. Mine!"

"And that hasn't bloody changed a bit!" Lupin shouted, knocking the poking finger away. "You're still thinking only of yourself in all this! Think, you blasted Slytherin fool! This is what Fudge has wanted all along! You breaking the rules, stealing Harry away! Why, he won't even have to prove his case in a court if he can snatch Harry away under the law!"

"He makes his law up as he goes along!" Snape shouted. "How can I fight that!"

He broke off, chest heaving, eyes fixed on Lupin's. The tutor's thin face was red with rage, his hands clenched by his side. But his eyes were dark and filled with as much worry and anger as Snape felt within his own breast. Closing his eyes against the sight Snape looked away, denying the other wizard any right to share in his pain.

"Dumbledore will come," Lupin said lowly. "I know he will. Let me go now and send word to everyone I can."

"I'm not stopping you," Snape said listlessly. "Go, send your messages."

"And give you time to set some crazy scheme in motion?" Lupin demanded. "What life will Harry have away from here?"

It was a question Snape had asked himself a thousand times over the last few months. But he had no choice. Because...

_Because every time I wonder at what kind of future Harry will have away from our world I find myself imagining Fudge trying to take him from me. Literally ripping him out of my arms. I see the dawning realisation on Harry's face, watch the tears well in his eyes, feel those little hands clutching at me like claws. And I know I cannot let him go. I will kill anyone who tries to take him, and then what will become of my boy?_

But he didn't say any of that.

"We'll manage." He met Lupin's eyes again, his determination like stone within him. "And you won't stop me."

"Yes, I will," Lupin said, stone in his own eyes. "I will if I have to bloody sit on you."

Snape's hand was on his wand almost without his bidding. To his amazement he found himself facing Lupin's own wand. They stood, wands out, the tips of wood, dark and light, almost touching one another.

"You wouldn't dare." Snape found his voice.

"I'm afraid I would," Lupin admitted. "And I'm reasonably sure you would too. And then where would Harry be?"

Neither lowered their wands for a moment.

"I am not your enemy here, Severus."

Frustrated at the stalemate, years worth of annoyance spilled out. "Why do you call me that?" Snape demanded. "You know it annoys me."

"That's usually why I do it," Lupin admitted. "Why will you never give me the benefit of the doubt?"

"Because I don't care enough to."

Lupin stifled a laugh. "Fair enough."

Neither wand wavered.

"You know," Lupin went on conversationally. "I used to talk a lot about us getting on better, for Harry's sake, remember?"

Snape stared back at him stonily.

"But I didn't really mean it. I know you and I will never be friends."

"The phrase 'not in a million years' comes to mind."

"Exactly," Lupin agreed. "We'll never be best buddies, and, be honest, the thought's pretty horrifying."

"Revolting."

"Right. But there's no denying one fact, Severus. You and I have known each other for most of our lives, one way or another." Lupin shrugged. "Hated one another, but that's beside the point. We share a history and now we share a bond, whether you like it or not." Lupin lowered the tip of his wand a fraction of an inch. "Harry."

Snape slowly followed the movement with his own wand.

"Harry is what is important here, Severus. We're in this leaky, manky old boat together. For Harry." The wand lowered another inch or so.

Again, Snape followed the movement. "I could curse you into oblivion, you trusting Gryffindor fool," he said, just to make sure Lupin understood that he had thought about it.

"You could," Lupin agreed. "But whatever else I think of you, Slytherin I don't think you that great an idiot. You know Dumbledore is your only chance. Harry's only chance." The wand now rested by Lupin's side.

Snape lowered his own wand, feeling weary all of a sudden.

So the werewolf didn't think him that great an idiot? And yet he seriously thought that Snape had loaded all his eggs in one basket, that he had trusted Dumbledore would come through for him?

Well, better to let him think that for now.

"Maybe if the hearing had gone ahead as planned," he said aloud, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "But what chance do we have now?"

"What chance if you try to leave here with Harry? Or do you really think Fudge isn't sitting somewhere right now rubbing his hands together in glee, waiting for you to do something so foolish as to try to spirit Harry away?"

Snape shook his head. He didn't doubt that was what Fudge was doing.

"He wants you to panic," Lupin said quietly. Urgently. "He's counting on your love for Harry. He's trying to use that love against you."

 _And he might have succeeded,_ Snape thought. _If I had sat back for the last three months and trusted our fate to anyone else._

"So what do you suggest I do?"

"Trust Dumbledore, just that bit further. Trust that he won't have put himself out of all reach."

"And if he has?"

"Then trust as many friends as we can gather to see that some kind of justice is done. We won't let Fudge have it all his own way. For Harry's sake."

Snape's thoughts spun. Would it be better to let the hearing go ahead and hope for the best? And then, when all hope was finally lost, take Harry and leave this world behind forever?

Didn't he owe it to Harry to give him every chance for a future in the world that was his birthright?

Could he risk putting Harry through it? Himself through it?

How could he not?

"For Harry," Snape finally said bleakly.

888

They spent the afternoon sending owls off to everyone they could think of, a dozen just cast adrift in the wide world with the order to find Albus Dumbledore. If an owl could look doubtful these did, all the same they set off gamely enough, fluttering in different directions into the lowering sky of a December day.

Return owls began arriving within the hour, reporting further messages sent along the line. Hope rose and fell, one or two seemed sure they could get a message through, but none were definite. None could set their minds to rest. Finally, as night fell, they were out of options.

"I'll wait here," Lupin said wearily, clenching and unclenching fingers tired from writing the seemingly endless messages. "If there's any news I'll call you."

"After Harry is in bed I'll unlock the Floo and start calling around." Snape grimaced at the crunch of bones under his feet as he waded out of the owlery. He had never seen the place so empty. They had almost cleared it out.

"Severus," Lupin called.

Snape stopped and looked over his shoulder.

The tutor opened and closed his mouth. "You, er, I... We'll catch the seven o'clock port key from Hogsmeade, right?"

A flippant remark would have been satisfying at this point but Snape was beyond teasing his old adversary right now. "I'll be there," he promised instead, noting the relief in Lupin's eyes. So the werewolf wasn't sure of him even now, he thought as he made his way down the dark paths to Hagrid's cottage. Well, he was right to be nervous. Part of Snape still screamed at him that he should be bundling Harry off and carrying him away.

Invisibility cloak ready. Floo to Diagon Alley. Disappear into Muggle London and make our way to the little house I have waiting, the new names, the Muggle life.

The lights of Hagrid's hut shone out over his garden and vegetable patch, outlining small scurrying creatures as they rustled in the vines. Harry was laughing and so was Hagrid, big, booming laughter, carrying through the stout walls and closed door. Snape paused by the scarecrow, listening to the innocent joyful sounds from within.

This was the life Harry knew and loved. This was where he belonged.

Harry answered his knock, eyes still alight with laughter, face sticky. "Daddy!" he greeted excitedly. "We've had the best time! Hagrid picked me up and I was up on his shoulders, ever so high! Higher than my broom flies!"

Snape nodded tightly, unable to stop himself from touching Harry's shoulder, shaping his hand around its small vulnerable curve.

"Thank you for taking Harry on such short notice," he said politely to the huge man who was seated at his oversized table.

"It was a real pleasure," Hagrid smiled through his bushy beard. "Did you and Remus get everythin' all sorted out?"

"For now," Snape contented himself with saying. "Come, Harry. You look as if you've had your supper, but I think a bath is in order before bed time."

"Bye bye, Hagrid," Harry waved. "Bye bye, Fang. Bye bye, Omar."

"Omar?" Snape murmured as they negotiated the paths, his wand held in front of him to light the way.

Harry looked guilty. "He's Hagrid's other pet," he murmured, then swiftly changed the subject. "Daddy! Guess what? Hagrid makes his own cakes, and his own jam! He says the fairies in the woods show him the way to wild fruit, do you think that's true? Are there fairies in the woods?"

Snape allowed the subject of Hagrid's other pet to drop. "There certainly are, Harry," he said sternly. "And they bite, so don't even think about asking Hagrid to show you any."

Harry looked even guiltier.

888

Harry's Hagrid stories went on through bath time and continued through the nightly ritual of combing the tangles out of his hair. Even the subject of Christmas dinner in the Great Hall was only vaguely mentioned, and even then only because Hagrid was going to be there. Finally the boy wound down as he was snuggling back on the couch, holding his mug of cocoa.

"Daddy, this is too hot," he complained.

"Blow on it then," Snape advised, and Harry puffed out his cheeks and blew wetly over the mug's rim.

"Daddy?" Harry said thoughtfully. Snape instantly recognised the tone Harry used when he had been turning something over in his mind for a while. Had the boy heard any part of the argument he'd had with Lupin that afternoon?

"Yes, Harry?"

"Is Santa really real?"

Nonplussed, Snape blinked over his cocoa at his son. Harry was wearing his thick green dressing gown and his newest slippers, as he had already grown out of last winter's. He was snuggled back against the worn tasseled cushions of the heavy old couch, his feet sticking out in front of him.

"Santa?" Snape repeated weakly.

"Uh huh." Harry blew on his cocoa again and sipped at it carefully. "I used to think he might be, but he never brought me any presents. Then Dudley said he was just people's fathers really, or men with pillows in their shirts."

"Pillows," Snape said, catching up. "I see."

"But then I came here and things I thought weren't really real, like dragons and stuff, well, they are. So is Santa? Real I mean?"

"Hmm." Snape wondered if he had ever believed in Santa Claus. He honestly couldn't even really remember being Harry's age, beyond a vague recollection of staying in his room as much as possible to keep out of trouble. So he certainly couldn't recall believing in jolly old men who bought presents to children. Like Harry, presents had been few and far between in his childhood.

"Remember what I told you about your aunt and uncle, Harry? Well, that applies to your, er, cousin as well."

Harry considered this. "You mean he was lying?" he wondered. "Cos Dudley would tell fibs all the time. Whoppers."

"Because," Snape corrected. "And don't start a sentence with the word because."

"Yes, daddy," Harry said obediently. "So he was lying then?"

"Probably. Who knows?" Snape contented himself with saying.

Harry nodded. "I think so," he decided in satisfied tones. "Santa probably just couldn't find me cos, I mean _because_ I wasn't here with you where I was supposed to be."

"Yes," Snape agreed, a hollow ache in his chest. "Where you were supposed to be." He knew he should say something to Harry about what was coming, warn the boy in some way. But he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Harry was happy, but more than that he was content. He felt safe. Secure. It would be cruel to destroy that fragile sense of safety.

_It isn't too late to run._

Fortunately the chime warning him of approaching visitors drowned out that annoying little voice in his head. Lupin was approaching and Snape felt his heart speed up. Was this good news?

"It's news anyway," Lupin panted, leaning against the door jamb with one hand and waving a piece of crumpled, much folded paper in the other. "I am so out of shape," he wheezed.

Snape snatched the paper while Harry peered interestedly around his legs.

"Hello, Mr Lupin," he said. "What's news?"

"Go back and finish your cocoa," Snape ordered absently, eyes devouring the tiny scrawled hand writing. "What is this?" he demanded of Lupin. "Who is this person?"

"It's signed B.S," Lupin said, pointing to the squiggle at the bottom. "You remember? Bedelia Slocombe? Dumbledore has had me send her several letters over the last few months, and last time he was away at Halloween that was where he told me to reach him."

Snape turned the letter over in his hands, the reverse side was blank and smudged with ink. "But all it says is that she's contacted him and he'll be back for the hearing. It doesn't say where he is, or even where she is!"

"But it says he'll be back," Lupin pointed out. "We did it, we found him!"

"So she says," Snape said, thrusting the paper back at the tutor in frustration. "It's not much to pin our hopes on, is it?"

"It's more than we had an hour ago," Lupin said in exasperation. "It's better than no word at all, right?"

"Is it?" Snape said moodily. He glanced over his shoulder at Harry, who was obediently holding his cocoa but was also leaning over the back of the arm chair and clearly trying to take in as much of their conversation as possible.

"You're not still thinking of doing anything foolish, are you?" Lupin said uneasily.

"You mean anything else foolish, don't you?" Snape snapped. "Oh, go to bed, Lupin. We have a long journey ahead of us tomorrow, remember?"

He shut the door in the tutor's face.

"Time for bed, Harry."

888

Harry yawned widely, knuckling his eyes as he snuggled back against the snowy white pillow. Snape tugged the covers up and sat down in his usual place on the side of the bed.

"Harry," he murmured, "I've decided we should go to London tomorrow."

Harry's sleepy eyes widened. "Are we going to see Li again?"

"Not this time. I have some business to take care of. Perhaps when it is over we might go back to that shop you like so much."

"The toy shop!" Harry enthused.

"Perhaps." Snape stroked the coverlet, long fingers tracing the rich dark fabric. All evening he'd wondered how to approach this, how to begin. Sitting here by his boy's bedside it all became very clear. He took a deep breath.

"You know I love you, don't you?"

Harry's small brow wrinkled and he tilted his head. "Yes," he said with certainty.

Snape breathed out. The swift sureness of that reply warmed him. "And you know, no matter what, that I will never leave you behind again, don't you?"

"Yes, daddy," Harry said again.

Little fingers fiddled with the counterpane and Snape stroked them with his own hands, hands that were so like his son's.

"So if anything were to happen, if either of us should get lost, or, or separated, then I don't want you to worry. No matter how long it took, no matter how hard it was, I would find you."

"I know you would," Harry said confidently. "Don't worry, daddy. I won't get lost. I promise."

"Thank you, Harry," Snape whispered. "That's my good boy." He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a handful of jade and gold. "I have an early Christmas present for you, Harry."

Harry gazed at the shimmering bracelets as his father separated them and laid them out on his long hand.

"One for each of us," Snape said huskily.

"What are they?" Harry asked curiously.

"They're magic, Harry. Deep magic. I wear one, see?" He fitted the thin chain around his wrist, the tiny jade lozenges glowing dully against his sallow skin. He held up the smaller one. "Will you wear this one?"

Harry nodded and held out his hand trustingly. "Li has a green bracelet like this too," Harry recalled, watching as his father fastened it around his narrow wrist.

"This is special, Harry. Watch." Snape pulled out his wand and touched its tip, first to Harry's new jewellery and then to his own. The jade shapes sprang into glowing life, just for a moment illuminating carved sigils and devices in their surfaces. Then they faded and with a tiny shudder the bracelets faded from sight, seeming to sink into the very living flesh of their arms.

Harry exclaimed in wonder, flexing his fingers and turning his hand around and around.

"It's gone!" he exclaimed.

Snape rotated his own wrist. "No, it's not," he said quietly. "Concentrate, Harry, the way I've taught you when we're mixing potions. Can you feel it?"

Harry wrinkled his little brow, eyes closing. "I can!" he said, eyes springing open in amazement. "I can feel it, daddy! Can you feel yours?"

"I can," Snape confirmed.

"Why did they disappear, daddy?"

Harry's face was alive with innocent curiousity and Snape didn't resist the urge to stroke his cheek, to push a soft wing of black tousled hair behind one ear.

"They disappeared because they are magic, Harry. Secret magic."

"Ooh," Harry breathed. "What do they do?"

"Remember how I said I would always find you, Harry? Well, this is how I will." He touched Harry's wrist and then his own. "As long as we both wear these I will be able to find you wherever you are in the wide world. And when you're old enough I'll teach you how to find me too."

Harry gazed down at his wrist, long little fingers exploring the pale unmarred skin, then reaching out to run over his father's bony wrist.

"But why are they invisible?"

"That's the secret part, Harry." Snape swallowed hard. He had just performed deep magic on his own little child. He had just bound Harry to him in a way the boy wouldn't even begin to understand for years and years. He hoped one day he would understand why such a drastic step had been necessary. "You see, if it was visible then someone might try to take it off us, or block its power. But while it is secret then it is safe from all our enemies."

Harry blinked up at him, eyes wide and a little myopic without his little round glasses. "Is this just our secret, daddy?"

Snape nodded. "Just ours, Harry," he said hoarsely. "No one else can ever know. Not Neville, or Mr Lupin, not even Professor Dumbledore. Not anyone."

"Just ours," Harry murmured. His fingers touched his father's wrist again, then slid confidingly into the palm of his hand. Snape wrapped his own fingers around the trusting little hand that lay in his. "All right, daddy."

"Good boy."

888

Harry slept the happy dreams of a child confident that he would be waking up on Christmas Eve and that would be only the beginning of his fun.

Snape didn't sleep at all.

888

The early train was packed with shop workers grimly girding themselves for a hectic Christmas Eve behind the tills and counters of the London stores. Office workers hugged bottles and bags full of gaily wrapped presents, probably already anticipating a noon finish and a slap-up Christmas party all afternoon.

Even a few hardy shoppers were already about, wistfully hoping to beat the rush and find that perfect last minute gift at a knock-down price.

The train was full.

Unwilling to budge up next to some Muggle stranger, Snape pressed himself into a corner at the end of the carriage and drew Harry close to him, letting the boy lean against his legs and peer out of the nearest window. Snape stared down at his own feet, uninterested in the grimy grey scenery of the suburbs and smoke blackened tunnels, and desperately trying to pretend he didn't know Lupin, who was hunched up on a seat only inches away.

The tutor had discarded his robes for the occasion, but had unfortunately exchanged them for a pair of ancient grey trousers and the most disreputable cardigan Snape thought he had ever seen. The shoulders sagged, the pockets bagged, and great runs and snags in its weave caused complicated patterns like spider webs all over its back. Fortunately he covered the whole ensemble with a grey cloak, unfortunately it wasn't in much better shape than the rest of the outfit. Out of the corner of his eye Snape watched as Lupin pulled one of his never-ending supply of chocolate bars out of his pocket and broke off a piece.

Lupin popped it in his mouth and then held out the bar to Harry with a whimsical smile.

"Chocolate, Harry?"

"I'd like the boy to stay clean," Snape snapped, giving up all hope of pretending he didn't know the other wizard.

Lupin obligingly broke off a chunk and held it to Harry's lips. "There," he said as Harry cast his father a guilty glance and accepted the treat. "No sticky fingers."

Over Lupin's shoulder came a gurgle and Harry stifled a chuckle and tugged at his coat.

"Look, daddy," he snickered. "The baby wants some chocolate too!"

"Don't mind my greedy lad." A smiling black face appeared as the lady behind him twisted in her seat. The baby on her shoulder gurgled again and then broke out into a wide gummy grin, proudly showing off a handful of snowy white teeth. "He can spot a sweet at fifty paces."

"Can I share a piece with him?" Lupin said with a charming smile, already breaking a morsel off of his bar. "It's Christmas after all."

"That's very kind of you," the lady smiled back and Lupin handed her the chunk of chocolate. Harry laughed aloud as the tyke clapped pudgy hands and opened and closed his mouth with loud smacking sounds in anticipation. Snape could only roll his eyes and shake his head at the spectacle they were becoming as the formerly listless passengers around them seemed to come to life, smiling and chuckling at the happily munching baby.

"Say taa," the lady said to her cooing baby. "Say taa to the nice man."

"Daa!" the baby said, squealing and arching his spine in excitement.

"Show-off," his mother said fondly.

Harry waved at him and the baby waved back, showing off his teeth again in a wide smile. Harry wrinkled his nose and the baby laughed and reached out with his starfish hands, opening and closing them eagerly.

"The baby likes me," Harry said in happy surprise. He let go his father's legs and leaned against Lupin, reaching out one hand and letting the baby grab it with his pudgy fingers. "Hello, baby," Harry said softly.

Passengers smiled and nodded around them again but Snape tuned them out, cynically aware how sappy sentiment would quickly turn to annoyance if the baby started wailing. His attention was fixed on Harry as Lupin gently caught him around his waist to hold him steady against the swaying and rocking of the train. Harry's small pale hand held the smaller darker one with a kind of wonder, his long fingers stroking skin even finer than his own.

Yes, Harry belonged in the magical world, but to the six year old all the world could hold wonders, as long as he could look over his shoulder and find his father there. As long as he had someone of his own who loved him.

No matter how the hearing today went, no matter what anguish might lie in their immediate future...

They would make it through. Together.

888

It was ten AM on Christmas Eve and of Albus Dumbledore there was no sign. Snape sat with Harry on a hard wooden bench in the Atrium and looked around at the people that passed them by. The huge room was decked with tinsel and sparkly lights, but the faces of the passing workers said that, Christmas Eve or not, this was just another day at the Ministry of Magic.

Snape wonder how many members of the Wizengamut and the Council had been tracked down at such short notice the day before the holiday. He wondered if even now they were sitting somewhere discussing Harry like he was some case. Like the specimen Fudge saw him as, when he wasn't considering him a political tool.

"I don't believe this." Lupin sat down next to Snape with a bump. "Can you believe they've scheduled the meeting in a courtroom? Arthur told me they haven't even used those dungeons since..." He grimaced. "For five years!"

Snape shot Harry a quick glance but the boy's attention was fixed on the coloured stars blinking on and off above his head to the accompaniment of faint tinkly music. He was humming under his breath.

"No word on Dumbledore?"

Lupin shook his head. Just then a clerk in a grey robe and a tinsel head dress hurried towards them, hastily consulting a clip board. "Severus Snape!" he intoned. "In the case of the paternity of Harry Potter! Please proceed to Courtroom Ten on the lower level."

"That's us!" Harry said, jumping to his feet. "Is this the business you're doing, daddy?"

Snape caught his narrow shoulders and turned the boy to face him, automatically pulling a hanky from his pocket and wiping a smudge from one round cheek.

"You have the most amazing skill for getting grubby, boy," he said, trying to even out his breathing. Inside his ribcage Snape could feel his chest beating so hard he was surprised it didn't make his robe flutter. "This won't take too long, Harry, all right?"

Harry nodded and rubbed at his cheek where his father had wiped it.

"I need you to be quiet, be still and above all be good. Understood?"

"Yes, daddy. And then we can go to the toy shop?"

"All being well."

Unable to put it off any longer Snape stood and nodded to the harried looking clerk who nodded back, tinsel slipping over one eye for a moment and making him look like a rakish and rather festive pirate.

"This way," he said, indicating the elevators. "Please follow me." They followed him into the elevator, Harry still humming to the tinny Christmas carols that echoed around the dingy old lift. Workers trooped in and out as the elevator sunk down to the lowest level, disgorging them in a stone corridor. "This way," the clerk said again, setting a swift pace. "The Council and Wizengamut are already seated. Here we are." He stopped outside grimy old door with an enormous lock. "Have a nice day and Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas," Harry called back over his shoulder.

Snape stopped in the doorway as the ancient old wooden door creaked open. Ahead of him was the dungeon court that figured in so many of his memories and dreams. As far as he knew it was only used for the direst of cases and he couldn't help wondering what message Fudge was trying to send to him by using it today.

Directly ahead of him in a beam of bright magical light was a high wooden chair and even from here he could see the dull metal chains resting on its arms.

"They have got to be kidding with this," Lupin muttered behind him.

"Come in! Come in!" Fudge's cheerful voice called. "Sorry about this dusty old room, very busy time of year, what?"

Snape forced himself to step over the threshold, a quick glance assuring him that Harry didn't seem to be affected by the atmosphere of the place at all. In fact he was looking around with interest and as his eyes adjusted to the light Snape saw that both sides of the room flanking the chair had people sitting on the serried benches.

"Professor Snape," Fudge greeted him happily. "Good of you to come on such short notice! As you see we've only managed to contact a dozen or so Council members, and five members of the Wizengamut. But never mind, they're credible witnesses all for the test to come."

"Look, daddy," Harry said in a sibilant whisper. "That wizard has a parrot!"

"Ah, young Master Harry," Fudge said, his smile stretching. "The reason we're all here. Would you like to take a seat, young fella? Right here in the middle? Best seat in the house."

"Is that necessary?" Lupin interjected from over Snape's shoulder. "Can't he sit with us?"

Fudge smiled again. "There are procedures, young man," he said condescendingly. "The boy must be in plain sight for the test after all." He held out one hand. "Harry?"

Sidestepping him neatly Snape led Harry to the seat and lifted him up on it. "I trust the chains won't be necessary?" he said lightly over his shoulder. "Remember what I said about being good, Harry," he said more quietly to his son as Fudge sputtered behind him. "I'll be sitting over there, so make sure you behave yourself."

Harry looked around at the dusty old seat curiously, but gave an amiable nod all the same. "All right."

Lupin was taking his place behind a table Fudge indicated and Snape followed him, eyes scanning the gathered wizards. It was obvious straight away who was on the Council and who the Wizengamut. Council members tended to look like Fudge; neatly groomed with conservative robes and hair styles. Whereas the Wizengamut all seemed more along Albus Dumbledore's lines, sporting long beards and garish hats. The five all wore plum coloured robes with a silver W on the breast. And as Harry had pointed out one had a parrot sitting on his shoulder, a huge grey and scarlet bird who noisily cracked a nut with his powerful beak and dropped the shells with a clatter onto the stone floor.

From his seat Harry waved at the bird and was rewarded by a screech from the parrot and a wave from the five members of the Wizengamut. The boy ducked his head a bit shyly at the enthusiastic waves, but smiled gamely back anyway.

Fudge strode to the back of the high ceilinged room and stepped up onto a podium. "Witches and wizards, Council Members and esteemed Fellows of the Wizengamut," Fudge said grandly. "Once again I apologise for the short notice in this case."

"So you should, young man!" a tall thin witch called down. She had a round fat turban on her head, rather like a silken cabbage in colour and shape. "What on earth was the hurry? I've a turkey at home waiting to be stuffed!"

Her fellow Wizengamut members nodded their heads in agreement. The parrot squawked loudly.

"My dear Madam Slocombe," Fudge said sweetly. "As I have already explained the Ministry received confidential information that we felt behooved us to move this hearing forward in this manner."

"What information then?" Madam Slocombe demanded.

"He said confidential!" A member of the Council said shrilly. "D'you want me to explain what that means, Bedelia?"

"The day I need you to explain anything to me, Lottie Lambkin, will be the day I turn in my crystal ball!"

"Please!" Fudge said as Mrs Lambkin made as if to stand up. "Ladies, please! There is an important matter to take care of today!"

"And there are children present," the wizard with the parrot said quietly. Everyone glanced at Harry who was watching the exchange from his seat with interest. The wooden chair was so big his little legs were sticking straight out in front of him.

Mrs Lambkin cleared her throat and settled back onto her bench.

"Er, right," she mumbled.

"Although I would like to ask, Minister," the wizard continued. "Why exactly you felt the need to hold the hearing in this of all places?"

Witches and wizards around him nodded fervently.

"In the worst possible taste."

"Considering the boy's history."

"That the Boy-Who-Lived should be exposed to this place!"

"Ladies and gentlemen, please," Fudge said stiffly.

"The poor little child!" Madam Slocombe said dramatically, flinging out her hand towards Harry, who at that moment was exploring the pocket of his cape and emerging triumphantly with a hand full of coloured sweets.

"He seems rather unaffected by it to me," Fudge observed dryly as Harry unwrapped one and began sucking on it enthusiastically. "And as I have explained this is a very busy time of the year and we are short staffed due to a seasonal bug making the rounds of the departments."

The wizard with the parrot spoke again. "I hope that at least we're waiting for Albus Dumbledore before we begin?"

Snape took his glance from Harry and flicked it at Fudge. The Minister assumed a disappointed expression and shrugged.

"Of course we'd like to," he said regretfully. "But as I said, pressing matters force us to move forward with this. After all though, we hardly need his presence just to verify this test, do we? Not with so many distinguished members of our community to observe?"

Members of the Council nodded their heads although some looked around a little uneasily. To a witch and wizard every member of the Wizengamut shook their heads and muttered under their breath.

"Fine," Fudge said, a little testily now. "If I may get this proceeding started? We are gathered here today to witness a Standard Parentage Test which will be administered by an impartial wizard of the Ministry's choosing."

Snape snorted quietly while next to him Lupin huffed a cynical laugh. "Impartial, right," the tutor muttered.

In his wooden seat Harry seemed to be growing bored, he was fiddling with the chains piled on the arms of the chair, running long fingers over their chilly links. Even as Snape watched the child hefted a manacle with two hands and lifted it to his eye, looking around the room as if through a telescope.

Lupin huffed another laugh while Snape only waited until Harry turned his manacle-telescope towards him. Then he frowned pointedly.

Harry hastily dropped the manacle back on the arm of the chair before wiping his dusty hands over the legs of his robe.

"And now," Fudge said in satisfied tones. "Our impartial tester."

The wizard with the parrot stood up on the Wizengamut side, but then stopped still in astonishment as another wizard bounded out of the Council ranks and hurried to Fudge's side.

"Jackson Churl," Fudge went on, gesturing to the small round man, who bowed as deeply as his girth would allow, then set to opening his briefcase. It was a dark shiny black like the robe that he wore and the sleek cap of hair on his head.

"What is the meaning of this, Minister?" Madam Slocombe said in amazement. "Was it not agreed that Elder Kendrick would be performing this test?"

Fudge shook his head. "That was the suggestion put forward," he conceded graciously. "But it was decided a less interested party would be better suited."

Elder Kendrick sat down slowly, one hand lifting and absently stroking his birds scarlet plumage. He seemed quite calm about the whole thing, but Madam Slocombe's face was turning an angry purple.

"Surely you're not suggesting Elder Kendrick would be any less than impartial?" she gasped in disbelief.

Meanwhile Jackson Churl had laid several items on the desk before the Minister, including two round hand mirrors which shone silver and flashed in the dungeon's dull light. With a gesture of his short stubby wand the wizard spelled the two mirrors to lift, where they spun gently for a moment in front of his face. Then, with another gesture they flew to the chair where Harry sat and flanked him, one at each shoulder.

"Ooh," Harry breathed in excitement, glancing from mirror to mirror. "Magic!"

"No one is impugning Elder Kendrick's impartiality," Fudge said firmly. "But as he was suggested by Professor Dumbledore, and the Professor does seem to have interested himself greatly in the results of this test..." he trailed away suggestively. If possible Madam Slocombe swelled even more.

"So it's just Professor Dumbledore you're impugning?" she demanded.

"If I may have quiet, please?" Jackson Churl called out irritably. He looked around the room at the assembled wizards and witches as they quieted around him. The light from the slowly revolving mirrors shone and sparkled on the tiny round glasses that perched, seemingly by magic, on the bridge of his nose. "Thank you. This spell requires some concentration. Now, I'm well aware I stand before some of the greatest proponents of the magical arts in our land," he continued with another small bow. "So I would like you all to carefully study my methods and my spell." He nodded at Madam Slocombe and Elder Kendrick. "So there can be no question later of any impropriety."

Snape was watching his son, who was sitting with his legs crossed now, dwarfed by the huge chair and lit as Churl was by the slowly revolving mirrors. Even after all these months Harry was still enthralled by magic and he was sitting now, glancing back and forward between the mirrors, eyes wide behind his little round glasses. He was sucking on another sweet and from where he sat Snape could see the smudge of sticky dust on his cheek. The wizard felt his heart aching in his chest. The child could not possibly know his fate lay in the silvery reflective surfaces hovering on either side of him.

The spell was complex, the wand movements precise, the words of the charm long and complex. Around the dungeon witches and wizards on both sides leaned forward on their benches and studied the spell being performed with rapt concentration.

Finally: "Reveal!" Churl shouted, and a flash appeared at his wand tip, split in two and collided with the surfaces of the mirrors, which now froze in place, their surfaces dimming. Holding his breath along with everyone else Snape watched as the surfaces grew cloudy, swirling grey lit with shots of gold.

Churl was frowning. "Something's wrong," he said in puzzled tones.

Next to Snape Lupin's hands were clutched together, but Snape found himself curiously calm as he sat back on his bench. He'd known this was coming and it was almost a relief now that the other shoe had dropped.

"Please tell us, Mr Churl," Fudge said loudly. "What should have happened?"

"The faces of the boy's natural parents should have appeared in the mirrors," Jackson Churl said, still frowning in puzzlement.

"Can you think of any reason why they would not?"

"Only magical interference," Churl said promptly.

Fudge cast Snape a significant look and then turned back to the other wizard. "What sort of magical interference?"

Churl shrugged. "Who knows? Any sort of Transfiguration charm that affects the boy's appearance or physical form might be responsible."

Members of the Council had their heads together, muttering and nodding. They too were casting suspicious glances his way but Snape ignored them, eyes back on Harry. With no more flashy magic to entertain him the child was growing bored again, and was currently leaning perilously over the front of the chair and peering curiously underneath it.

Members of the Wizengamut were also muttering together, Madam Slocombe at their center. She was shaking her head and gesturing vigourously. Around her witches and wizards nodded, as did Elder Kendrick's parrot, who then squawked and cracked another nut.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Fudge said loudly, and the mutters and squawks died away. "As you have all observed a problem seems to have occurred in the test."

Harry straightened in his chair and huffed a bored sigh.

Snape stiffened.

"In light of this development I have no choice but to declare this hearing over until such time as we can identify the magical interference that is blocking the spell."

Harry's face brightened and he slid forward on his chair.

A hand clutched Snape's arm but he didn't think of shaking it off. His gaze was fixed on his son.

"Unfortunately as this matter has not been sorted out to the satisfaction of the Council I'm afraid we cannot allow the child's circumstances to remain unchanged."

Now Harry frowned, as if suddenly realising that he was the focus of all eyes in the room.

"Oh no," Lupin moaned under his breath, but Snape still gazed on Harry, bracing himself for what was to come.

"Therefore it would seem prudent to change those circumstances at this time," Fudge droned on.

Harry frowned harder and he turned and looked at his father, a small crease of worry running right through the distinctive scar on his forehead.

Snape saw the worry and his fists clenched.

"My judgement at this time," Fudge intoned grandly. "Is that the child should be taken into the custody of the -"

"I don't think that will be necessary."

Every head in the room snapped around as a bright voice intruded into Fudge's speech, including the Minister himself.

"Dumbledore!" he gasped.

"Thank goodness!" Madam Slocombe announced ringingly.

"Professor!" Harry called, climbing to his knees on the wide seat and waving. "Hi!"

Snape closed his eyes, relief like liquid gold running through his veins, filling him, lighting him, but at the same time weighing him down, making him slump wearily onto the bench.

"Hello, Harry," Dumbledore said happily, strolling into the center of the room and extending one long fingered hand. He tousled Harry's hair fondly. "Are you being a good boy?"

Harry nodded emphatically then rolled his eyes. "Yes, sir, but this is taking forever!"

"Let's see if we can speed it up, hmm?"

Fudge found his voice again as Harry nodded fervently. "See here, Dumbledore, you're very late indeed!"

Dumbledore turned a charming smile on him. "I was quite far away when the message arrived," he explained. "It seems that a great many messages to me had been waylaid." His smile sharpened slightly. "Something I'll have to look into."

Fudge looked a trifle shaken. "Of course," he agreed hesitantly. "But in the meanwhile I was just about to make my judgement-"

"So I see," Dumbledore said, keen eyes scanning the cloudy mirrors. "It all appears to be in order."

Fudge smiled triumphantly.

Dumbledore stroked a thoughtful hand down his long white beard. "I wonder though, if we might not have a second opinion before we make an announcement that may very well destroy two lives. Yes?"

"Hear hear!" Madam Slocombe called, and around her the Wizengamut broke into applause. Fudge looked even more shaken when some of the Council members joined in the applause, one or two rising to their feet.

Jackson Churl was peering down his nose through his tiny little glasses. "A second opinion is not necessary," he said pompously. "Everyone here watched me perform the spell. I don't make mistakes."

"It takes a brave wizard to claim such a thing!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "And as you're so sure I'm equally sure you won't object to a second opinion? Elder Kendrick?"

Elder Kendrick sprang to his feet and nodded to Dumbledore, before stepping out of the ranks of benches and walking down the stairs. His parrot rubbed its beak against his lean cheek for a moment, then took off with a squawk and sailed over to Harry's chair, where it perched atop a pile of chains on the arm.

"Hello!" Harry said in delight.

"Hello," the parrot echoed, then raised its crest up and down a few times as Harry giggled huskily.

Dumbledore turned to Snape and Lupin for the first time and gave them a quick smile.

"Merry Christmas, boys," he said, then dropped a wink.

Snape's energy came back and he sat up straight again. Whatever else you thought of the annoying old wizard he had the knack of instilling confidence in one. Fudge certainly seemed flustered. He was sitting forward in his chair, fingers clenched together on the table before him.

Elder Kendrick went straight to the mirrors and peered at their foggy surfaces, tilting his handsome greying head one way and then another. Jackson Churl watched defiantly. Finally Elder Kendrick pulled out his wand and touched its tip to the nearest mirror.

"Finite Incantatem."

The assembled watchers gasped in unison as the mirror transfigured with a hollow pop, and Elder Kendrick reached out with one hand and deftly caught the transfigured item. He turned it over in his sinewy old hand for a moment before holding it up for the room's inspection.

It was a rubber ball.

"Wow!" Harry said, clapping his hands.

"The mirrors used in this spell cannot be transfigured ones. That explains the magical interference." Kendrick touched his wand to the other mirror and let it fall to the ground, where it bounced a few times and disappeared under Harry's chair. The child instantly scrambled off and groped for it but the occupants of the room were too busy to notice. Around the dungeon wizards and witches stood, some shouting, some clapping, some booing.

"It's all a fiddle!" Madam Slocombe was booming.

"It was an honest mistake!" Lottie Lambkin shrieked back.

Fudge, his face red, had climbed up on his chair and was bellowing for order, next to Snape Lupin had his head in his hands and was panting as if he had just run a race.

"Thank goodness for Dumbledore," he breathed.

"And his penchant for dramatic entrances," Snape muttered. But he didn't say it very loudly.

Harry emerged from under the chair with the rubber ball in his hand, dusty and grinning.

"Well then," Dumbledore said quietly, but oddly his voice could be clearly heard over the babble, and within moments it had died away again, as all eyes turned to him expectantly.

He reached out and took the small red ball from Harry's hand.

"I bought those mirrors in good faith," Jackson Churl stuttered, his glasses slipping further down his nose. He shrugged, suddenly not appearing as smugly self confidant as before. "You can see how that would happen?" he appealed to Dumbledore.

The old wizard looked down his long nose at him. "Sit down, Jack," he said kindly and Jackson shot back to the Council side and fairly leapt up the steps and onto a bench in the back row. "Well then," Dumbledore repeated. "Let's try this again, shall we?"

Harry was lifted and sat back on the chair, the parrot flew back to his owner's shoulder and the spell was begun again. Elder Kendrick produced two round mirrors from his voluminous cape and Harry settled back to watch as more magic was performed around and on him. This time when the light left Elder Kendrick's wand it settled gently on the surface of the now still mirrors and everyone leaned forward for a better look as the reflective surfaces glowed golden then cleared with the suddenness of clouds parting on a sunny day.

And there they were. First Lily Potter as she had appeared that day, flushed and pretty, her dark red hair secured behind each ear with emerald green combs that perfectly matched her eyes.

And Severus Snape, younger, cheeks thinner, eyes dark and hooded.

"Look, daddy!" Harry said excitedly. "It's like TV! And there's my mum too!"

Applause broke out over the child's excited cries, Lupin was slapping Snape on the back and Fudge's mouth was turned down. Dumbledore only nodded.

Snape's eyes were fixed, not on his own face in the mirror, not even his son's excited countenance, but on Lily Potter's shining image. There was a soft smile on her face, as if she knew a secret no-one else shared, and for just a moment as her image began to fade Snape imagined he saw one other image in the mirror, a lean brown hand that rested on her shoulder. She almost appeared to be laying her cheek to the back of that hand as the image faded and disappeared utterly.

"Oh, they're gone," Harry said in disappointment.

"Well," Dumbledore said over the hubbub. "That seems final enough." He turned to face Fudge as the sounds around him faded again. "Minister? It seems it's time for the pronouncement."

Fudge bit his lip for a moment and then seemed to screw his courage up.

"Thank you, Professor," he said stiffly. He stood, holding onto the edge of the table with a white-knuckled grip, flags of red in his plump cheeks. "But I think, as the Presiding Judge in this case, that it is up to me to decide when a pronouncement should be made."

"Certainly, Minister, certainly," Dumbledore said amiably. "I just thought, as the test is concluded, and the results, as we have all seen, are conclusive..."

"Yes, so it seems," Fudge said waspishly, his voice a little shrill. "But I did not convene a full meeting of both the Council and the Wizengamut, at your request, I might add," he said accusingly. "Merely to perform this test."

Dumbledore raised one white brow, innocent astonishment on his face.

Here it comes, Snape thought to himself. He remembered Fudge's threats all those months ago. His hints that even if the test went Snape's way that the judgement wouldn't necessarily be in his favour. What rabbit could Dumbledore pull out of the hat to counter those threats?

"You astound me," Dumbledore exclaimed. "After all, Cornelius, I only insisted on so many of our brethren here today so that things could be done openly, and above board." Suddenly all pretence at innocence was gone and Dumbledore's expression grew grim. "So far," he said, his tones now cold. "It has not gone well."

Now the red flags in Fudge's cheeks faded, leaving him looking pale and drawn. His hands gripped tighter as he seemed to flinch from the elderly wizard, whose usually smiling blue eyes seemed hard and cold now, like icy sapphire.

Snape didn't blame him. Dumbledore was on his side, but even he could feel the chill radiating off the old wizard. And behind him, every member of the Wizengamut had gone quiet and still. Their faces were shuttered, their eyes, even in the dimness of the cavernous dungeon, seemed to shine with brittle ice.

And suddenly they were no longer a collection of eccentric old witches and wizards with tattered hats and daft hair styles. Suddenly Snape was reminded that he was sitting opposite some of the most powerful magical beings in the entire world. He knew he was not alone in this realisation. The Council seemed to be holding their collective breath, Lupin seemed frozen beside him and even Harry was still and silent, staring wide-eyed at the wizard towering over him.

As for Fudge, his legs seemed to lose their strength all at once, and with a bump he sat back on his seat.

"Cornelius?" Dumbledore said.

Snape blinked, as if awakening from a spell. Had he imagined those last few moments, that cold chill, that air of menace?

Dumbledore's amiable expression was back, he absently reaching into his pocket and pulled out a sweet which he offered to Harry. The boy smiled and accepted it.

"Cornelius?" he said again. "Anything to add?"

Fudge looked as if he had plenty to add, but it was also clear his spirit was broken. He looked around the serried ranks of wizards and witches and obviously did not see as much support there as he had perhaps counted on. If Snape had been a kinder man he might even have felt some smattering of pity for the small wizard before him.

But he was actually a rather vindictive man and it was with a great deal of real pleasure that he watched as Fudge cleared his throat and shook his head.

"No, Professor," he said weakly. "That all seems to be in order."

"Then I'll take it on myself to declare the findings, shall I?" Dumbledore said comfortably. "Here goes then. It is the finding of this court, before the Council of Magical Law and the assembled members of the Wizengamut, that Harry James Potter is the legal and physical son of Severus Snape and the late Lily Potter, nee Evans. This finding is absolute and may not be challenged again under Wizarding Law."

Dumbledore turned to Snape and extended his hand. "Congratulations."

Snape reached out and caught the proffered hand, relief and joy filling him.

"Can we go now?" Harry said in a long suffering tone, and around him wizards and witches began to chuckle and then laugh aloud as some of the tension in the room broke. Harry looked surprised at the reaction and grimaced apology at his father before hunching his shoulders and sitting back in his chair.

"Well, it is Christmas," Dumbledore chuckled. "And I'm sure we're all eager to get back to celebrating it. But if you would all bear with me for just one more moment?"

Snape frowned in puzzlement as Dumbledore twinkled another wink at him.

"I'm going to exercise a very old power of the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamut," Dumbledore smiled. "A bit of a cheeky one, actually. But I was a friend of dear James and Lily, and flatter myself that I know what they would have wanted if they could have foreseen this. I also count myself a friend of young Severus here. As well as this little chap." He nodded at Harry who smiled stickily back at him.

"So I take the liberty of bestowing a new name on young Harry," he said happily. "Or at least adding another name to his already impressive one. Ladies and Gentlemen I present to you: Harry James Snape Potter!"

"Hearing adjourned!" Fudge snapped into the stunned silence, obviously at the end of his tether.

Applause broke out around them again but Snape heard and saw none of it, all he could see was the dawning joy on Harry's face as the boy slid off the seat and bounded towards him. For once in his life not caring whose eyes were fixed on him Snape jumped to his feet and met his child halfway, catching him in mid leap and engulfing him in a tight embrace.

"Did you hear, daddy?" Harry was burbling excitedly in his ear. "I'm Harry Snape Potter now!"

Snape tilted his head back and peered into his son's face. "Is that all right?" was all he could manage.

Harry nodded shyly. "I've wanted it for ever such a long time," he confided in a murmur, little fingers holding tight to his father's velvet collar.

"Have you, my Harry?" Snape whispered thickly. "I'm glad."

"Now everyone knows I'm your boy," Harry said in tones of great satisfaction.

"They certainly do," Dumbledore said at his shoulder. "Severus, some folk would like to add their congratulations to mine. Be nice, hmm?"

Today Snape felt he could be nice to just about anyone. He even thought that if Sirius Black himself appeared before him, he would kill him quickly instead of dragging it out as he'd always planned. He hefted Harry onto his hip and turned to face the hoard, but before he did he touched a hand to Dumbledore's heavily embroidered sleeve.

"Professor," he said softly. "Thank you."

Dumbledore inclined his snowy white head with a smile, but the eyes he turned to Snape's were surprisingly serious. "No thanks are necessary, dear Severus. I owed you both this much, at least."

888

The toy shop was as mad as Snape remembered from the year before. Seemingly insane last-minute shoppers carried their purchases to harried shop assistants while children tore up and down the aisles, or pressed their noses against various displays. Harry joined their ranks, running from one display to another, indistinguishable from the other children in his green cloak and long tasseled hat.

Now he was at the Christmas tree and he skidded to a halt before it and gazed up in wide eyed wonder at its glorious shimmering decoration.

Unbidden in Snape's mind's eye came an image of exactly a year before and his first glimpse of his son. How different that old image overlaid on this one! That Harry had been smaller, thinner, face worried and drawn. His clothes had been baggy and worn, even his glasses had been too big. That Harry had been neglected and abused, starved of love and attention. Alone.

This Harry stood taller, his cheeks rounded and flushed with the healthy colour of childhood. He comfortably wore the robes of a young wizard and when he glanced over his shoulder at his father it was no longer as the child frightened of abandonment and seeking reassurance. It was just as a little boy sharing the wonder of this moment with his parent.

His green, almond shaped eyes shone with it and now in Snape's mind's eye was that image of Lily in the mirror that morning. Odd how he never really thought of her much, when her eyes looked at him from his son's face every day. Mostly he remembered her as Potter's wife, a clever witch, a near stranger.

But now Harry's eyes were conjuring up that image of her, smiling so serenely in the mirror at the precious secret she held within her, and Snape closed his own eyes and brought her to the forefront of his mind. She was Harry's mother. She had accepted Snape's seed and had carried Snape's child within her. The incredible intimacy of that burned through him for the first time.

She had given birth to Harry, and even if the child was never intended to be his, that gift could not be taken lightly.

Snape opened his eyes again and gazed at the marvel that was his son.

When he spoke softly, under his breath, it was to Lily.

"Thank you."

888

The fire was low in the grate, the cocoa mugs were empty and Harry was curled up on his father's lap, enjoying his last moments of Christmas Eve before bedtime.

For Snape it was all still a daze. Months had been spent in worried planning and preparations and it was difficult to believe that none of it was now needed. All the same, that little cottage in the country wasn't going anywhere. Nor that ornate box full of gold and muggle money, magically hidden in the stones of its fireplace. Snape added them to the cards held close to his chest, the allies he had gathered, that wall he was building to protect his son.

The future still lay ahead of them. Enemies still lay in wait for them. And somewhere out there, wounded, crushed, but still seething with malice, their greatest enemy bided his time.

But for right now Harry James Snape Potter was as safe as any child could be.

And as loved.

"Daddy!" Harry exclaimed, and Snape looked down at him in surprise.

"Hmm?"

"You're smiling!" Harry accused.

Snape felt the unfamiliar muscles pulling in his cheeks but huffed a discouraging raspberry anyway.

"No I'm not," he said firmly.

Harry studied him a moment longer, then smiled a small smile himself. "Okay," he said simply. Then he leaned his head back on his father's shoulder.

And they saw out Christmas Eve together, gazing into the flames.

The End


End file.
